Head in the Sky
by Heart-Sleeved Girl
Summary: His head was always up in the clouds, dreaming, earnestly wishing. She would glance over just to catch a glimpse of him, his endless radiance, his illuminating smile, and his foolishly hopeful eyes. It was always just enough to lift her own head to the sky.
1. Prologue: Cloudless

**Head in the Sky**

Prologue: Cloudless

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_Hello, this is Heart-Sleeved Girl, or Emiko. It's been a while since I've attempted to write a fanfiction, and written it through. As always, credit for Kaichou wa Maid Sama! belongs to Fujiwara Hiro, whereas original characters/plot/settings belong to me._

_**EDIT 7/12/12**: Dearest readers, welcome! Please read this extension of the note above. For my older followers (thank you), I must inform you that I have edited chapters 2 to 5 to the point that the plot has been slightly changed...Sorry. Chapter 2 and 5 only have minor edits, but chapters 3 and 4 have been rewritten completely. So...please take note.  
As for new readers, please enjoy!_

* * *

Lightning roars, thunder claps. Clouds drift, shift, lift. The sky is open, free, and literally all-encompassing. Untouchable by bare human hands and forever above everything within the earth itself. The sky is the world's most wonderful dwelling place, yet is forever unreachable.

Stupidly, I wish were part of the sky.

From up here, the campus looked as if it were littered with specks and ants. Some took their places behind the school, hidden away with their little triangle, circle, square of close companions; others sought more social areas, and chattered among the masses, often creating ruckus and mini-mahem.

I leaned on the metal railing that lined the edges of the top floor of the building, observing the people of Seika High.

_Ah_.

The sight of two people together near the "untraveled" side of the school caught my attention. They stood there, assuming that there was some seclusion near the shadows cast by the trees. Her hands shook, trembled while held together. His hid away in the depths of his plaid pockets.

_Confession time_.

It was sick that this amused me. Was I intruding on this little affair? Probably. Did it really matter? Not really. Rather, I had seen these two elsewhere before: same situation, different couple.

Miyazaki Ayumi was a first year with too many crushes; it seemed that she'd developed a new crush every three to four weeks—it wasn't a wonder of any kind that she hadn't had progress yet. But a seductress in the making? Perhaps in an alternate universe.

Takashima Kentaro was in class 2-3, an average student, with average experiences. He'd once been confessed to as a player on the basketball team, and had accepted. However, his relationship was ephemeral, broken at the end of two months. (I really have too much time on my hands to know these details.)

"T-takashima-senpai...I've seen you around school," the nervous girl uttered, clasping her hands so tightly that her knuckles bore white.

I could tell her face was heating up—the usual that occurred during her confessions throughout the year. Takashima shifted uncomfortably, staring at the female before him with a sort of sympathy. I watched his hand tense in his pocket, a soft crinkling sound escaping. The bangs of Miyazaki's chestnut colored hair fell before her eyes as she bowed and pled, "Please accept my feelings!"

The dark-haired Takashima removed the letter from his pocket and glanced at it once more before holding it out back to her, embarrassed and guilt-ridden.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes looking anywhere but the freshman before him.

A breeze blew by and I averted my gaze to the sky.

Cloudless.

_How dull_.

The closest I could get to reaching the sky was surrounding myself with the clouds. When the clouds were in some distant part of the earth, anywhere but here, I was missing companions.

I jumped back, off the railing, and prepared to return to the halls. Heaving a sigh, I pondered the value of such efforts. The outcome of the Miyazaki-Takashima confession was clear-the soft sobs revealed it all. I would have empathized with the two, but I couldn't when I didn't understand the underlying meaning. Did she truly like Takashima, or was this a one-time fling she was searching for in the midst of puberty-driven desires?

To be honest, I sided with Takashima on this one.

I twisted the doorknob of the entrance that led back into the halls from the top of the school. A light click sounded.

_Did he know about Miyazaki's tendency to hold temporary crushes? Or was she just not his fancy?_

I opened the door and briskly walked down the steps. The school bell rang grandly, notifying the whole campus that school was still extant and running. I entered the hallway for the junior classes, watching those in other classrooms store away their bento boxes and quickly wipe clean their desks.

_No matter the outcome, then, what were the original intentions?_

I made a sharp turn into Class 2-1 and made my way to my seat by the window, catching sight of the teary, red-eyed Miyazaki outside. Another girl ran up behind her, placing a hand on the rejected girl's shoulder, showing a concerned expression.

Still, sitting down, I frowned a bit.

_How long, how fervently had she been watching him when it wasn't even basketball season yet?_

Classmates shuffled into the room and filled their seats, some smiling, some not, though all somewhat burdened by the idea of another three hours of class (Except for Fujimoto-san, who loved history). Leaning on one arm, hand to cheek, I waited for class to begin so that it could finally end.

_Was she thinking, "This is the one"?_

The thought was unsettling. It was strange that I found myself exhausted by these thoughts but intrigued all the same. Such intrusions...

Maybe "amused" and "intrigued" were wrong words for these situations. Maybe not.

_"Koizumi Atsuko-chan...? What a pretty name!"_

I shook the grandmother's words off before my stomach wrenched in guilt. Brushing back the straight strands of black hair and combing my bangs, I attempted to distract myself and dispose of those sobering thoughts—not that I could become any more sober than I already was.

_"Love"? Couldn't be._

"Attention class, I have an announcement to make," a stern voice called from the front of the room, "as a new transfer student will be joining us today_."_

The interruption caused me to look up to the empty desk in my vicinity, then finally up to the teacher and the transfer student.

"This is Shintani Hinata."

Locks of his short, scruffy auburn hair framing the somewhat irritated expression on his face, the transfer student stood silently, as most new students do in situations like these, before our class. A tall, tan male with complacent brown eyes, Shintani assumed the appearance of an average teen and drew no particular interest from our class. With his hands in the pockets of the baggy uniform pants that hung on his frame, the teen waited nonchalantly as the teacher proceeded to ramble on and introduce him.

Then, saliva.

Those of us who'd decided to pay attention were slightly taken aback; the homeroom teacher, also caught unaware, abandoned his speech entirely, mouth wide-open in astonishment. Spit dripped from the edge of the boy's mouth. Yamamoto-san, who had been sitting casually before him at the front row, felt especially disturbed as the new student gawked at him—or rather, his hands. Yamamoto's eyes were glued to the stream of drool that trickled down, and he flinched back as it almost hit his shoes.

"Honey lemon flavor..."

I couldn't figure whether this was some sort of endearing term, or just the words of a hungry, hysterical teenager, though neither improved his image. An audible growl echoed in the room as everyone now awakened to watch this student, curious.

Yamamoto retorted with an agitated expression, "What's with you?"

But the boy only continued to stare. And drool.

Puzzled, our class continued to watch the scene as if it were the climax in a drama, some even ready to take out popcorn to feed on while they watched. The situation was a combination of intensity and indifference. Truly, the matter wasn't all that important; the way I saw it was that the longer this lasted, the more I could distract myself.

"Ah! You mean this?"

Yamamoto removed his hand from the desk and revealed a piece of candy.

Shintani looked as if he were rescued from the darkest abyss of the earth, his eyes sparkling with utmost joy and wonder at the cent-worth candy. As if moved by sympathy for this seemingly food-deprived child, Yamamoto handed the candy to the boy.

"Eh?" Shintani exclaimed, "You're such a good person!"

Attacking the poor candy at once, Shintani was all too ready to relinquish the candy of its plastic packaging and devour the sweet with jubilation, sparkles emerging from his very pitiful being. However, as he snapped out of his state of bewilderment, the teacher immediately scolded, "Shintani! You aren't allowed to eat during homeroom period!"

Shattered, Shintani was crestfallen and had nearly began to cry. His eyes watered and his lips curved downwards: the spitting image of a five year-old who'd lost a Red Power Ranger action figure.

_What in the world...?_

I watched for a hint of malice behind those teary eyes, a cunning twitch of a smile, an evil spark. The childlike innocence that he radiated seemed suspicious. I narrowed my eyes slightly, scanning, processing, calculating.

_There must be something._

My eyes flickered when I saw something under his right eye.

_Ah, a scar_.

I approached this as if to entertain myself. As sick as it was, I was playing detective, as this teen was too innocent, too earnest to be true. He was just like her.

_"Atsuko-chan, I'm relying on you!"_

I felt my temples pound.

The teacher reluctantly stepped back on the matter, sympathizing with his new student, saying, "...Okay..."

Aware of the reluctance in tone, Shintani, even more teary-eyed, asked, "No...?"

The teacher's lack of response and averted gaze told Shintani that the act was, this time only, permissible.

And at once, as if glorious music had suddenly arose from thin air in support of this deed, Shintani got ready to tear the wrapper open again—only to be stopped by Student Council President Ayuzawa Misaki.

A shocked expression flashed across his face as a hand gripped his right arm tightly.

"No," she firmly ordered, "There is no way this kind of behavior can be tolerated." Her exacting stance glared down on Shintani. The crestfallen image returned to his features, presenting an innocence that only irritated the president even more. And so, like this, the president had dominated the classroom with strict abidance to the school rules yet again, rebuking Shintani for his less-than-manly obsession with food, food, and more, food.

He was finally made to sit down at his seat, and he pouted, walking down the aisle to my right. I continued to search his features from the corners of my eyes, perhaps more malice found in my own eyes than I would have ever found in his. As he turned to sit down, he hesitated and caught my glare on him, a unexpectedly serious tint in his dark eyes. I felt a cold jolt shoot through my body and quickly looked outside the window on my left. Thoughts now preoccupied with a hodgepodge of the trivial and the foreboding, I briefly shut my eyes.

It wasn't long before the tension subsided, and the class finally settled down.

_Could he...? How...?_

I combed my fingers through my hair and heaved another light sigh, looking down at my desk before taking one last glance out the window. Miyazaki. Takashima. In honesty, I didn't understand why it mattered to me— they were couple number seventy-two.

A breeze blew by and rustled the leaves that hung delicately on the trees. I averted my eyes to the sky.

One cloud had appeared, a pure white that drifted alone in the vast sea of blue.

Suddenly, things weren't so dull anymore.

* * *

**A/N:**

_Ha...not the best, but an effort at the least! If you read the whole thing, I'm very grateful, and I thank you very much. I don't know when I can get a new chapter out, but I'll try. As for why I chose Hinata...well, I mean, Fujiwara Hiro-sensei has pretty much established that Misaki & Usui are the main couple. And so, moved with sympathy for this very earnest character of Shintani, I felt a need to act!_

_Anyway, reviews are very much appreciated! _

_Thanks again,_

_Heart-Sleeved Girl (Emiko)_


	2. Ch 1: Saccharine

**Head in the Sky**

Chapter |01|: Saccharine

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_Heart-Sleeved Girl, or Emiko, again. Uhuhuh...my apologies for the four month hiatus /bow/ but this is the first chapter! Please enjoy!_

* * *

The fluttering anxiety. An inescapable embarrassment. Red blush. Pink flush. An aching, beating heart.

I stared at the girl who sat in front of me on the bus. All such aforementioned symptoms rushed to her as she caught sight of the boy behind the window. He waved. She waved.

I turned away and waited for my stop, averting my gaze from the couple. I decided to take the bus today, since I would have been late otherwise.

Leaning my elbow on the window railing, I stared outside again. The boy was gone. I caught a glance of the girl's bobbing, chocolate brown bun and a taller shoulder beside her cheek. They must be holding hands.

Two weeks ago, on the same bus, another couple kissed in the middle of the aisle and captured everyone's attention. Weren't they embarrassed?

_1, 2, 3…_

Or was this the usual? An "ordinary" occurrence?

_4 couples so far…_

Skinship, affection, acceptance…are they all desires inherent in us? Or did we secretly cultivate them behind our own backs?

"_Akira, you can't possibly be serious! What about us? This family?"_

"_Kouta, our relationship right now is strained anyway-"_

"_What do-"_

"_I hope you find a new happiness too."_

"Now arriving at…"

I slowly stood from my seat and brushed those thoughts away, at least for another time.

"_A-chan, please bear with it for a while. Papa's really got something on his hands this time, huh-"_

The words had snuck back into my mind. For one second, I was lost. Then, shaking my head clear, I gulped and stepped off the bus. This wasn't the best way to start the morning_._ A scent of sweet lemon swept by as a boy ran past me. His dark, ruffled hair, his glistening, determined amber eyes. That subtle, quiet scar. Shintani Hinata. It had already been three days since his introduction and everyone in my class had grown somewhat accustomed to the boy's queer ways, gluttony, and search for his childhood love.

"Oi, Hinata!"

Two more boys ran past me, after their companion.

Really, Shintani was not unlike the other teenage boys at school. Sure, he was more concerned with food than anyone else on campus was, and sure, he seemed to be chasing after a dream that seemed to stem from some shoujo manga, but really, he was still a youthful boy with raging hormones, relentlessly fighting for what he wants.

I entered the school gates and felt something in my skirt pocket shake. Curious yet troubled, I sighed lightly and grabbed my phone.

"1 NEW SMS."

I flipped it open. And felt the first bulging vein of the day.

"A-CHANNN," the message read, "Papa needs you to do him a favor, mkay~?"

_How does someone text so...!_

The text continued, "Ehehe, you see, he's forgotten the...umm.. password again and needs the file in the system..."

_What old man uses emoticons when he texts?_

I stared back down grimly at the screen and heaved a deeper sigh, fully aware of where this was going.

* * *

I leaned further over the railing as the wind brushed across my face. Nothing to watch, nothing to ponder. No couples were here today.

Reaching into my back pocket, I grasped the plastic bag of lemon blueberry cookies made yesterday and untied its pink ribbon. A sweet, light aroma filled the air around me, remaining even when the wind carried the scent away. Inside the bag was a handful of little homemade flower-shaped treats, each dotted lightly with a blue-indigo. The colors matched well: the blueberry's shade complementing the cookies' light and soft yellow, while the pink ribbon added the sprinkle of warmth that made the bag as a whole, a quiet beauty.

Baa-chan really...

"_A-chan, really. Presentation isn't everything, but...a little doesn't hurt, right?"_

I popped a cookie into my mouth and played with the bag of sweets in my hands, hoping I didn't drop it as I twiddled it between my fingers idly. As I popped another into my mouth, I caught a figure down below staring up at me, somewhat seriously. The color of his hair told me it was Shintani. Pleasantly, I smiled, hoping that the focused look on his face would disappear and that he would soon leave me be and walk on. But, his look didn't change. It wasn't until another student pulled him away that he finally stopped staring. The smile on my face faded and I continued to chew softly, slowly, savoring the blossom on flavors in my mouth.

_Why was he staring?_

The look on his face reminded me of the one he gave when he first entered the classroom. I remember the shiver that shot down my spine as he returned my gaze. It was as if he knew something about me. As if I were plain and exposed. No fake smiles to cover up, no polite, fluffy words to add distance. Anxiety sprouted from the bottom of my gut, but I tried to ignore it. He wouldn't know anything.

...Right?

Suddenly, a large, sonic wave of "Ehhh?" erupted from the middle of the school. I rushed to the commotion, abandoning my worries to distract myself for the time being. From the other side of the roof, I watched as Shintani embraced Ayuzawa tightly, like a son who'd just found his mother. Ayuzawa, on the other hand, seemed shocked, confused. Realizing what position she was in, she shouted, "O-OI! Le-Let go of me!"

Shintani finally let go, but only to hold her by the shoulders, staring intensely into her eyes.

"How have you been? What have you been doing? Did you miss me?"

He was ecstatic, exploding, _mad_. On the other hand, Ayuzawa was just mad. Or perhaps, it only seemed so because, blushing furiously, Ayuzawa had pushed him away and stormed off, though he trailed closely behind.

The crowd began to disperse. Gossip reigned.

"Is Misaki really the childhood love he's been searching for?"

"Who was that guy? Poor Misaki-san."

"Seika is always filled with stupid things."

(Suppressing a laugh, I agreed wholeheartedly with that last one)

_Ahh…but!_

I looked around the area below, searching for a blond head. Usui Takumi, one who had become Ayuzawa's right-hand man, as one almost always accompanying her, would certainly have a negative reaction to this. Ayuzawa and Usui made the _ultimate_ couple, standing at the top of so much of the school. Grades, power, respect. No one didn't know how great each was, much less how great the pair of both of them was. Ayuzawa and Usui…Misaki and Takumi…A golden combination, a golden pair.

So what now? Now that there's an intruder, what now?

There was a tug at my lips.

_Oh the drama._

* * *

I felt a pair of eyes on me as I stared outside the window. Thankfully, it wasn't long until the last class ended.

The whole rest of the afternoon had consisted of this awkward feeling of being stared at, and it only felt unnerving because, simply put, Shintani kept turning around frantically, as if to _check_ on me. I never returned his gazes, and when he turned, I pretended not to notice and stared either straight forward at the teacher, or out the window.

Why was he staring? Strangely enough, he'd also stared at me during lunch. What, was I also some childhood friend from long, long ago?

_Tch_, I scoffed at the idea and rolled my eyes.

"Alright, class. That'll be all for today. Please enjoy your afternoon and be ready tomorrow."

"Ye—s," we all answered, out of politeness only.

"Stand," a firm voice called in the classroom, "and bow."

Mechanically, we bid the teacher good-bye and gathered our belongings. Those who had club meetings went. Those who had duty stayed behind. Whoever involved themselves in this school responsibly awaited their next assignment.

I quickly left, escaping too the gaze that had been upon me this afternoon.

The sun's rays fell through the hallway glass, the nearing sunset evident through the warm orange glow. The hallway was empty as I crossed through. I felt the shadows fall on my face, and the light combat the dark. Watching the sky as it became a gradient of pink, blue, orange, and lavender, I allowed its warmth to wash over me, even if for a second, and stood in the hall, facing the glorious sight.

_That's right.…they were going to have a karaoke party today._

I felt an empty thump resonate within me. I walked on.

When I reached the sidewalk, I checked my cell phone, rereading that morning's message.

_Idiot father…_

When I think of it, it'd been a while since we had contacted each other. Last time, the same had occurred, sometime five weeks ago when he had asked me to retrieve some lost data. I shook my head slightly and sighed. Reaching into my back pocket, I grasped the bag of sweets again and desired to taste the hint of lemon and blueberry in my mouth.

However, just as I did this, my quiet walk was interrupted by an "Hinata, what are you doing, you fool?"

I turned around, curious, and discovered that I hadn't been walking alone this whole time. A group of five boys from school moseyed along behind me, one of them being Shintani himself. He still had that concentrated look on his face. A look of restraint yet desperate need as he stared at me.

I looked at the four boys beside him who then turned away from my glare, one turning to whisper to Shintani in a slight panic.

Shintani, who had started to drool, then looked at him in shock and retorted, "Eh? But she smiled at me during lunch! She's not _that_ scary."

My eyebrows twitched in annoyance, and, mustering up what patience I had left, I finally asked, "Is there something that you _need_?"

I smiled when I asked them. They looked away, drops of sweat forming on their foreheads. They disliked me. Why? Because I gave everyone, no matter teacher or student, janitor or principal, the same, stupidly polite, Yamato-Nadeshiko smile. Truthfully, it didn't matter whether they liked me or not. _I_ wasn't doing anything "_wrong_."

"See?" The innocent Shintani pointed at me and justified, "She's not mean."

I felt another slight twitch and gripped my bag.

_Troublesome people._

But he suddenly walked up to me, eyes on my hand, and I realized what this almost-drooling boy wanted: the sweets.

Before he could ask, I added, "Would you like some cookies, by any chance?"

_Yamato Nadeshiko,_

Like the day he came in and smelled candy in Yamamoto's hand, Shintani drooled in glee from the corner of his mouth, and with shining eyes wondered, "Really?"

_Huh?_

I held the back out to him and he, who had put his hand out, watched as it plopped into his grasp.

_Can I have some peace now?_

And with utmost gratitude, he cried, "Thank you!"

Tears of joy brimmed his eyes. How long had he been restraining himself?

Despite this thought, I continued to smile, and I bowed and turned to leave.

"See you tomorrow, Koizumi-san!"

I turned back to wave but for a second, I felt my eyes widen, and warmth creep to my cheeks. Sun rays hit him as if to embrace his whole being, as if he were a born of the sun itself: the sun's child. _Hinata: "facing the sun."  
_

His hair shimmered and his eyes gleamed, and he seemed to glow like a bright firefly surrounded by a pit of dirt and mud. The shadows he cast were never as dark as true shadows, my shadows. His were shallow and light; they were a thin, bare veil that meant nothing. He was too radiant.

In his thin shadow, I watched in a unsuspected awe, and felt my features relax, my lips naturally spreading across my face, the corners turning up. The strain from the earlier "perfect smile," had disappeared. Or if not, it seemed to have. Calmly, assuredly, I returned his wave and felt some sort of satisfaction within myself.

He soon stopped his eager waving and frantically turned to the companions who had begun to leave him behind.

_Tch, _I chuckled softly, _w__hat an idiot._

It wasn't until I turned around again that I realized the kind of foolish reaction I had. Foolish because I understood my stupid tendency to feel for earnest people. Foolish because I was being deceived by my eyes. Foolish because I was jealous and I knew.

I was jealous that he, an ignorant buffoon, could—as the trite but true saying goes— live with sheer, unrestrained _bliss_.

No, Shintani was no different from the others. Of course not. Not with his transparency and lack of self-control. Not with his common, happy-go-lucky attitude. Not with that innocent, child-like, pure smile that glowed so gorgeously in the sunset.

No, of course not.

* * *

**A/N:**

_Note that I changed my pen-name! How confusing. Faithful readers, no fear! It's still me._

_Anyway...Ehehehe...I'm sorry for not updating...at all. Not to worry. The next chapter should, according to my plans, come out within (at least) the next week, most likely a day or two from today._

_I had to reabsorb some "Kaichou wa Maid-Sama" fandom so that I could get the feel of the story once more. I also apologize for the lack of progress (but I also like gradual and innocent romances, so head's up there)._

_I'm grateful for all and any reviews, criticisms, and others. Thank you for paying even a little attention to this little story._

_Thanks again,_

_Heart-Sleeved Girl (Emiko)_


	3. Ch 2: Jarred

**Head in the Sky**

Chapter |02|: Jarred

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_Hello, this is Emiko! I've spent half a day revising this chapter that I originally wrote over a year ago. It's much longer now and I think it's better. (Hope so...)_

* * *

I looked over to the alarm clock on my right.

2:07 AM.

Eyes heavy, I forced my fingers to continue hitting the keyboard, quickly, lightly. Father's tendency to make urgent last minute requests was second on my list of his most irritating qualities—the first being, of course, his unyielding "affection."

"_My, my Atsuko-chan. You seem to have quite the knack for this."_

I was told I had talent by adults I didn't even know and to this day, cannot name. Praise, however, was a kindergartner's favorite type of nonphysical candy. Had I known then that this "talent" meant working ungodly, eyeball-scorching hours, then I probably wouldn't have swallowed all that candy whole.

_"Good mourning!"_

_"Ouda-ji, You mean, 'Good morning,' right?"_

Not that that would have stopped Ouda Kei from bursting through the front doors of Father's office every day in order to tell me about his latest discovery. He was bright and bubbly. Despite working 28-hour days, he found the time to talk to me and teach me things that I could have cared less about if he'd have been anyone else.

"_This my passion."_

The alphanumerical codes strewn across the screen made his cheeks radiate with excitement.

Curious and clueless, I would look at him.

"_What…is…?"_

"_Coding."_

A passion. That's what it was. A passion.

I remember the light that had flickered in his eyes, a light that wasn't merely the reflection of computer's LCD screen, but a light of interest, obsession, fascination. Yes, _passion_. The word was almost foreign to my tongue. To people like Kei, it meant everything. It meant hard work, long hours, stubborn dedication, toiling over minor details that didn't matter in the long run in order to achieve the closest to perfection itself.

It meant ultimate satisfaction.

And to me? What had it meant to me?

The hobby-turned-lifelong job for Kei was nothing but another skill for myself, a simple acquired skill.

Back then, I'd wanted to feel what he felt when he stared at the screen and his fingers attacked the keyboard. I wanted it and I tried to attain it. It was like fitting together the pieces of a puzzle until I could see the picture.

But even with all the pieces I hadn't understood the picture of Kei's passion.

_Passion_.

The word stained my mind because it reminded me of the word "earnest." That too was such a _strong_ word.

_Characterized by people with_ **_passion_**.

I could tell it was late when I had started driving myself in circles about frivolous things, wasting my time concerned about matters that didn't matter. It was stupid. Absolutely moronic.

It was also now three in the morning. I rose from the dining table; I needed to clear my head.

With a deep breath, the fog in my mind began to clear, and for a second, I felt the tranquility of midnight. No one was here. No one _would have_ been here.

_No one_.

As I poured the cranberry-grape juice mix down a glass cup, its dangerous, dark maroon trickles glided along the curved walls. The near-black stream widened its course, revealing its redder nature. And yet, as the liquid collected back at the bottom of the cup, again, it was near-black. Dark, menacing. A color that could swallow one whole before he realized that it had so perfectly performed an act of seduction. It was entrancing. Nature's magic trick.

_Passion_.

Again, the word rang in my mind.

Ouda Kei. Ouda Kei and Nagisa.

I stared at my cup, subconsciously wondering if I should add ice. I did.

The half-moon ice blocks hit the juice as if diving headfirst into an abyss. From the first splash, it seemed as if the blocks would be consumed instantaneously, engulfed entirely. A pitiful display of gallantry, sacrificial heroism in perhaps the most mundanely extravagant manner possible—for ice in a glass of juice, that is.

But they floated up, still an icy white.

Ouda Kei and Nagisa. Ice and Juice. They complemented each other in perhaps the most respectable way possible, melted together, into each other. They created the perfect love story. He liked her. She barely noticed him. He mustered up the energy to talk to her. She slowly took more notice of him. They evolved together as the ice dove heroically in, headfirst, heartfirst. Eventually, they merged. Ouda Kei and Nagisa were _the_ couple. Not just in Father's company, but everywhere they went—the park, the mall, the young persons cafe on the corner of Setsuma and Kent. They were the couple that all couples wanted to remain before the glass tipped over and crashed to the ground, shattering into the million irreplaceable shards that couldn't be rearranged into its original, perfect whole._  
_

I stared at the ice in my cup, watching as the drink slowly diluted itself. A drink that was like children's red wine. Sour yet sweet.

They had both been, essentially, the same types of people: earnest, passionate, properly content yet simultaneously ambitious. Of course, Kei hadn't married the female clone of himself; it was merely that they were _similar but different_, as the common description goes.

Passion was probably a word that characterized, among others, Shintani as well. Shintani and his evident devotion to a childhood friend that most likely hadn't thought about him in years—a childhood friend whose heart had already been stolen and locked away by someone else.

And Usui Takumi didn't seem like the kind of guy who would give up the key either. Not without some absolute, all-out battle to the death, at least.

_Sour..._

And perhaps Shintani knew but continued on with that idiotic, happy-go-lucky smile.

_...but sweet._

Kei, Nagisa, Shintani. Chiyako-baa-san, of course. Father, probably. All of them fell into that mold, a mold of people that I failed to completely embrace or understand. An entire population of human beings whose eyes lit with an indescribable energy and excitement so bright, it lit up others' lives. Maybe _they_ were the ice blocks, and the rest of the world, the bitter nectar that needed dilution.

My inside twisted in disgust as another thought hit me. I grimaced at the maroon in my cup, the pool of darkness that would kill to actually swallow an ice cube whole. No floating up.

_"You're cold."_

I remembered her grin. Her smirk when she responded: _"You're too young to understand."_

It was vile and made me want to curl up somewhere, curl up and puke.

I didn't know whether it was simply an "adult" thing or whether it'd been there all along and had never shown in her "normal" smiles.

_Were **they** genuine?_

I wouldn't _ever_ know.

Another sip trickled down my throat, chilling. Aside from a couple drops along the top rim and the base, the glass was empty.

For a moment, I stared at the cup in my hands, making out the distorted image of my hand behind its two curved walls (or really, just one circular wall). I set it down on the table where my laptop was; droplets of dark crimson hung on the edges where my mouth had been. As little as there was left, the red was still as entrancing as ever.

Had I even _deserved _to question her motives?

The thought struck me as a sudden thud came from left. I jumped, shivers running down my spine. I could feel through my eardrums, the loud pounding of my heart. I turned toward the patio. Outside, the leaves on the tree rustled violently, as if struggling to stand firm while reluctantly shaking in accordance with the wind's powerful will. Frozen, my eyes remained fixated while my mind suddenly halted.

No one was supposed to be here.

I gulped, finding it hard to move. Instinctively, I shook, shook like I'd forgotten how to move and was afraid that with each step, I'd lose the ability. Slowly, I advanced to the patio doors. Sounds that I'd naturally ignore before—the silent moan of the wind and the rustle of the trees—became all I heard. But as my eyes scanned the patio from behind its glass doors, I'd caught the culprit of my fright. The culprit and its crime: the wind and the shattered flower pot laying on the ground. Exhaling with relief, I pulled close the blinds, and turned around from the helpless pant being crushed by a mountain of its own moist dirt and fragments of its own clay pot. I turned around, and it was dark. All dark and dead. Nothing vibrant or personal that popped along the walls. Nothing decorative to liven up the room. It was all plain and lifeless.

And it was there before the patio doors, in the shadows cast by the single light above the dining table— it was there that for the first time that night, I realized how empty and cold my apartment was.

* * *

It was Sunday.

It was Sunday, the only day in a week that was not hindered by school, and Koizumi Atsuko had woken up early.

Perhaps to the regular Japanese teenager, such a situation was pitiable, especially if this was the case after sleeping at 3:17 AM—a mere four hours ago.

However, it was on days like these that Atsuko actually thrived, because on Sundays, Koizumi Atsuko worked in the bakery. Panto (_meaning "Bread and"_) was, to her, an oasis. Because in the rustle and bustle of the town and in the chaos of her thoughts, the bakery was simple and straightforward. It was clean and warm, and filled with an aroma that if one could eat by breathing, would be perfectly content with never stepping outside again. It was sweet, and not just because it sold deserts.

It was a place far enough from school that she rarely saw people she'd seen on campus. Though even if she'd seen someone, it was even more rare that that someone would recognize _her_.

It was somewhere private and personal, where if she laughed, she didn't feel like slapping herself silly because she was smiling at mothers and children and kind elderly people, not rowdy, hormone-insane teens. And even when said teens—or even adults— strode into the store, she wasn't surrounded by a crowd of them. She dealt with one or two for five seconds max.

There was little need to converse because the comfortable silence that the owner afforded her was a gift above all gifts. There wasn't a need to try to smile. Things just _were _and left _just so_.

So that morning, when Atsuko had spotted the humble little shop that gleamed among the others on the street, a light blush that crept on her cheeks and the headache from her previous thoughts had dissolved, melted into a blanket of relief.

The bell that hung delicately on the store door jingled at her entrance. Eyes in wonder, owner Chiyako lifted her head, eyebrows gently raised, her round spectacles almost slipping off the bridge of her nose. Small eyes looked up from a cup of light brown tea, spotting a pair of familiar loafers that stood on her white, shiny tiled floor. The petite older woman shut her eyes, reaching into one long sleeve before stepping off a stool that was over half her size. Shuffling past the counter in her floral kimono, the petite older woman walked toward the still Atsuko.

"A-chan," the grandmother scolded in her soft, frail tone, "You're late!"

Atsuko lowered her head in slight apology. Knowing that the grandmother wasn't actually irritated, however, a faint smirk played on the edges of her lips.

Because it was Sunday.

Because it was Sunday, and on Sundays, Atsuko left her cutting sarcasm and Yamato Nadeshiko smiles behind the door where the aroma of Panto Bakery and the soft chuckles of Nakahara Chiyako were enough to last the girl a lifetime.

* * *

_"I need you to run out for some more supplies and ingredients, so I'm sorry that you won't be able to get your hands in the dough right away."_

It was midday.

My hands ached for the feeling of dough between my fingers, the dough that absorbed everything and transformed into delectable bread.

As I strolled past Ideyuna gas station, my eyes scanned the vicinity for the slip of paper that Chiyako-baa-san had given me earlier. My hands, covered in flour, had allowed the smooth slip of paper to be stolen by the wind.

_First the flower pot, now this._

The trouble-making wind, though, had blown the slip right into the gas station, where _conveniently_ anyone could pick it up and throw it away. I rolled my eyes then kept them at the ground, which was rough in comparison to the smooth sidewalk beside it. On the ground, nothing but dust and splatters of gas. As a whole, nothing but cars, gas, and a smell that gave me back the headache I thought I'd lost. I snaked around a few stations, staring at the people in their cars, the people washing their cars, the people looking awfully bored in their cars. Certainly, they stared back, hoping I wasn't looking to steal their belongings like the wind had stolen mine.

But there was always one in every few that made me feel sick. As much as I loved people-watching, there were still things I could live without watching every excruciating detail of. The red car near station five reminded me why. Parked off to the side, waiting for the car wash, the car that seemed to me, pretty clean, in reality contained the a scene dirty enough for _Bare-Naked Tangos_.

I felt my lunch bubble up and my face flush, its blood, drain. Turning away, I tried to rub away the single image of entangled tongues and undressing bodies, of bare skin and voluptuous curves in a _heated—_

"Ah! Cookie-sa- I mean, Koizumi-san!"

A familiar voice called from aside with a cheery delight that I now wished would replace my urge to puke. I gulped with the hopes of clearing my throat.

"Koizumi-san!"

He repeated, running toward me. Eyes shut as I fought back digested foods, I waved back politely, hoping that fluids wouldn't erupt from my mouth the moment he came.

Shintani arrived with a striped towel in his hand, his body clad in a blue, grease-stained uniform that reminded me of the blue ink on the shopping list.

_Right. The list_.

"Shintani-san, you work here part-time?" I asked, distracted and hoping that if I jumpstarted the conversation, he would more quickly ask his question and _I_ wouldn't appear rude.

"Yeah! I need a way to support myself since I'm living in an apartment."

There were a million follow-up questions I could have asked: _"How's the work? Do you like it? Are you living somewhere far from your hometown?"_

_"Do you live alone?"_

There were a millions questions to ask, and a million more comments I could have made and yet, in the soon-to-turn-awkward silence that had followed his previous answer, I made none. It, however, wasn't so much that I _couldn't_ ask as it was that I didn't know _how_ to ask when the drool reminiscent of his first day at Seika had returned for a second round. A leaking pool. His mouth was in my mind, similar to a kiddie pool that'd been bent enough for its otherwise structured body of water to spill out. Like a dam that'd cracked or a—

"A-ah!" His yelp of shock drew my eyes away from his drool. Wiping his mouth, he laughed sheepishly, "Koizumi-san! You should have told me that I had so much spit!"

"Oh! It's quite alright, no need to be..." What was the word? "...shy."

"Sorry, Koizumi-san always smells really sweet, and so it's hard not to think about food." Embarrassed, the boy scratched the back of his aurburn-haired head, his sleeve now stained with a blotch of dark blue in addition to the black smears. His smile was wide and showed all his top teeth; it was open, inviting.

It was unlike the smile I responded with, a dishonest, plain smile that showed no teeth.

A smile was a smile; same number of muscles, same general gesture.

He continued, "Oh, right! Thanks again for the cookies yesterday. It'd been a while since I'd tasted something like that..."

There was a strange silence as he paused, looking a bit flustered. His hair looked more disheveled than usual, its brown locks thrown into further chaos by the hand he'd ruffled them with. But it complemented him, the rough scar, the tan skin, the spirited, shameless brown eyes.

"-gget those?" he'd stuttered.

I blinked blankly and myself felt sheepish, sheepish for having admired the way his features matched his personality.

_Cranberry and grape. Juice and ice_.

Forcing down the blush of embarrassment made me ashamed.

"Sorry—"

"O-oh, it's okay, I mean, you don't have to tell me, I-I-I-I-I-I-I just wanted to know...y-you know..."

His face was a red that I'd never seen on a tan person. Fuchsia and flaring.

And I realized that it might even have been entertaining knowledge to have...if I'd actually known what he was asking.

Another strange silence. He, flustered, fidgeted as he stood.

"Um...what exactly are you asking about?"

Eyes wide in disbelief, he exclaimed, "Y-You know! Those cookies you gave me last time after school! I-I just wanted to get them...for...I mean, n-not that I.."

His stuttering continued as my mind whirled in confusion. He was embarrassed, for one. He mentioned the cookies I gave him, for another. And then "get them for"...

_Ah._

A click. A click of understanding in the back of my mind, like a flickering lightbulb.

_Could it be that...?_

The thought came out aloud: "Could it be that you wanted to share them with Ayuzawa-san?"

His face again flared bright red.

"Am I r-really that obvious?"

He placed his hands on his cheeks and turned away. At this, I couldn't help but laugh.

_What a moron._

"Why are you laughing? I don't see what's so funny! Getting something for someone you love, is it really that embarrassing?"

"Love?"

My eyes widened and I wanted to clasp my hands around my mouth.

_"Love?"_ The question I'd asked replayed in my mind as I stared, waiting for the boy's reaction. The thought, in all its sardonic and bitter pronunciation, had slipped out. A tone that was left for my mind, and my mind only. A tone that I'd stored up, while trying to maintain the image of a person who had no guilt to feel, nothing to apologize for.

_Because I have done nothing wrong._

I needed to be the person who'd show her up. To show her up by living as if her absence, her disappearance, her abandonment had benefited me more than anything else. It was like revenge. A cowardly revenge upon the person she'd trusted for ten years. And now—now of all times—wasn't the time to slip. It was _never_ the time to slip.

"Yeah," he mumbled, almost to himself. There was a distant look in his eye, a swirl in his wide chocolate brown eyes that deepened them further than I'd ever seen. He'd gripped the towel in his hand, strangling it as if his emotions were painful to bear. Lurking there was a sort of somber fondness that his words couldn't express because when he tried, he sounded childish and stupid and immature and all the things he hadn't meant to sound like. Because he was a true idiot, though, he didn't mind. He didn't mind at all what thoughts brewed in the depths of his peers' minds, what potential gossip or opinions would arise from his earnest actions. There was now a sudden quietness about him that surprised me. That he was searching yet again for what to say to express what he felt. And the words didn't go to him. He had to dig for them.

"Yeah," he repeated, louder, more confident, "I love Misaki-chan a lot! She's really...the only one for me."

_Passion_.

This was it. Passion and the endurance it inspired. One look like the one he'd had.

It was undeniable.

_Passion._

The word was back to haunt me and it made the hairs on my arms stand because for some odd reason, that word struck in me guilt. Pure guilt. That word along that the look he'd had, that honestly, unbelievably lovesick gaze churned my stomach with a remorse I could've lived without.

And I didn't understand why.

"You are," I began before the strange silence settled for any longer, and before the remorse had really taken a turn for the worse, "very easy to read." I tried to chuckle, "Your face is practically burning!" It was my attempt of lightening the situation, for my sake and for his.

"If it's for Misa-chan, it's okay."

It didn't particularly work.

Shintani had crouched down, burying heated face in his arms. He seemed tired, overwhelmed by embarrassment. It was as if he'd expended every last drop of energy trying to tell the world that he loved Ayuzawa Misaki with his whole heart.

_Passion_.

To an extent I was stunned. How was I supposed to react? Did I find his display honorable, admirable, or commendable? Did I feel sympathy or empathy? Or was it just pity? Was it even something directed toward him that I felt? Or was it something I'd subconsciously realized and subconsciously repressed?

"I...would do anything if it was for Misa-chan."

_Passion._

It hadn't been the jealousy I'd felt before. Or maybe I'd just misidentified the emotion from that day to _begin_ with. Guilt. Not exactly guilt. It, I could now tell, was something else. Something that made me want to move, want to act, want to _do_ something...in _his_ behalf. Maybe I was simply—

"I can get more of those cookies to you by tomorrow."

—moved.

No answer.

I'd had enough. It was too much that I didn't comprehend, didn't fully understand. And that was aggravating.

"Well, I'll take my leave now, Shintani-san."

Again silent for a moment before I noticed him nod slightly as he buried his face. He reminded me of a squirrel.

As I turned to leave, I saw the shopping list coincidentally caught a gas station sign that read, "Get Your Car Washed Today!" It was like the paper had been waiting for me. I quickly grabbed it, crinkling it in my hands. It'd been so much trouble and work, just for this stupid slip of paper.

_Annoying._

"Th-thank you, Koizumi-san!"

_Stupid._

* * *

_Ah. Popular choice._

I again stood at the rooftop, leaning over the railing. The girl left, tears dripping from her face as she ran off, while the guy stood, hands in his pockets, uninterested. This time, the scene was of third-year Kimura Aiko and her confession to the school's famous bishounen, Usui Takumi.

Intelligent, attractive, skilled, strong, Usui was an idol who didn't go unknown. Last year, he'd received so many confessions that I'd lost count after the thirty-ninth (or so). In fact, all the girls who claimed to like him came together and made a pact to like him silently because so many had gotten rejected. They wanted to learn everything about him, though he was so mysterious that no one dared to go any further than the perfect surface image of "Usui Takumi: the ideal man."

Yet, even so, he was indifferent to almost everything—except one person.

"_Oi!_ Usui!" From the window below, called an annoyed, firm voice.

"Ah, Prez."

"Can't you at least _try_ not to make them cry?"

Usui smugly approached the window, taking his hands out of his pockets. I couldn't hear his next words, though I knew he would have replied. He'd disappeared, having climbed into the halls through the window.

_He's good._

It wasn't surprising that someone like him, with that ambiance, that dignified manner and acute perception would have realized that I had been watching simply for entertainment's sake. Rather than describe them as _rude_, I believed my actions were justified by others' complete and total lack of self-awareness. After all, it wasn't _my_ problem people didn't bother to properly conceal themselves.

A buzz suddenly came from my skirt pocket. When I opened my phone, I read the received text message:

"Thanks again, A-chan!

-Papa"

Putting the phone back in my pocket, I remembered the bags of sweets that I'd gotten for Shintani. For myself, one bag, and for him, two.

_Should I just hand it to him?_

I was hesitant to take that direct approach. Soon enough, people would draw attention to the matter. Rumors would sprout and grow as full-fledged as wild as ever. I could imagine it now:

_"Newsflash: Quiet, Unspoken Koizumi Madly in Love with Country Boy! She Wants to be His Eternal Lover!"_

I shook my head. How irritating. People taking anything in any way, always carelessly and lightheartedly, as if it did not matter unless it involved themselves.

Resting my head on my arms, I leaned on the railing. A soft breeze was present again, and whipped around strands of hair that I didn't want to deal with.

"_A-chan! Tomorrow, go off and have fun. I'll be able to handle the customers here. See, I heard that on the other side of town, there's some good cafe with delicious deserts! You may be able to learn a bit if you try it for yourself. It's called...Cafe Matte? Something popular that young ones like you love to hang around and chit-chat."_

I took her word for it, though it seemed unfair to ditch my duties at the bakery and "go off and have fun."

_I'll make sure the visit isn't a waste._

Again, the soft breeze played with my hair, and mindlessly, I allowed it to do so. The undisturbed peace allowed my mind to rest. I wasn't interested enough to search out couples to criticize, and I'd missed out on sleep the day before.

_Right now...a nap..._

I shut my eyes.

"**Koizumi-san**!"

The loud, energetic voice directed its strength at me.

I pretended not to hear.

_Peace...peace...go back to that peace—_

"**Oi**, **Koizumi-sa-n!**"

My eyebrows twitched and I reluctantly lifted my head.

"Ah, you're awake!"

I feigned kindness and smiled, giving Shintani a slight wave.

"Do you have it?"

I nodded my head. He was making such a big ruckus that it was embarrassing. My face heated a bit, and I couldn't pinpoint which emotion had been the stronger trigger: embarrassment or utter irritation.

_Unnecessary_.

Without another word, he reached his hands out, like a child, and smiled brightly.

_Really, this guy...he draws so much attention...!_

His association with me was worrisome. People thought they were quiet when they whispered about me and their opinions of me. In my third year of middle school, I wouldn't help out during the school festival, and frequently missed school due to business trips. When people found out it was because of business, I was seen as a priss. I scored in the top five on every exam and was seen as haughty. I refused invites to parties and was labeled as antisocial.

But I was never doing anything _wrong_. And it was that fundamental truth that mattered more than involving myself with some of the world's most average and annoying buffoons. The attention was, to start with, completely unnecessary. Friendships? Perhaps in the most basic manner, they were alliances against gossip..._if_ your alliance was even _strong_ enough.

Again, I nodded and stepped back, grabbing the sweets from my bag.

It still stood that I cared what they thought. "Antisocial, prissy, haughty"? Fine. Reckless and stupid? Unforgivable.

I returned to the railing and looked around me, seeing no one around. Around him, a few eyes lingered, and I secretly hoped that they would not remain.

Over the railing, I held out the bags, and shook my head at Shintani, suggesting that either he should come up here and get them or I should run down and deliver them. But he, a stubborn, shameless fool, shook his head and outstretched his arms further. I bit my lips, and looked around again.

"_If it's for Misaki-chan, it's okay."_

_No sense of shame at all._

I tossed the cookies down, and they, in their pleasant plastic bags, shot down quickly, like fearless skydivers on a mission to reach their target. I was fixated.

His hair today was not has ruffled and his face, back to its regular tan. The blush from yesterday was gone, cleared from his very features. And it was strange to see his face at an angle where his entire forehead was exposed and the messy locks that usually interfered, flopped back as his head stared up, eyes locked onto the bags of sweets. Focused, determined.

Those were the words that characterized his approach.

Those words, and _passionate_.

Because passion couldn't have existed without the other two. Because he went to shamelessly extreme lengths to get what he wanted. Because he loved Ayuzawa Misaki in a way that made you pay more than the usual attention to him and hope, just hope...

As he ran, he propelled himself upward in a frightfully high jump that defied gravity itself. I felt him come toward me and almost flinched back at his quick, daring motion. Midair, he snatched the bags, his shoes skidding hard against the the ground below. Dust flew up as he stood straight and rose a proud thumbs up.

...that he'd make it.

"Nice throw!" he called, oblivious to the glare of a teacher passing by.

His call had made me aware that for some reason, I'd become calm. I watched as he dashed off, excitement evident in his light footsteps. It washed over me an unusual reassurance that cleared a self-consciousness I'd carried the entire day. I was tired. Not exhausted, but just tired. And it wasn't until his little act that I'd briefly—for just the breath of a second—forgotten the reality around me.

I returned to resting my head on my folded arms on the railing.

_Association with Shintani?_

The metal bar was cool and smooth.

_He's **already **a shameless fool._

Like an ice pack.

_So associating with him—_

It made me more sleepy.

_—would probably be fine._

* * *

I reached the front of the popular cafe somewhat taken aback.

_"Maid Latte"...?_

The name itself was a tad _odd_.

I watched from a couple feet back from the cafe, taking the perspective of a mere passerby. Its outside was simple and—one could've argued—"cute." But it was the name. It was the name that'd caught me off guard and it made me attentive to the customers that strolled in; as men of various ages entered, and few females followed. The undeniable, lingering suspicion that Maid Latte was possibly a hostess club in disguise disturbed me, prodded me. In the end, I'd admit that I was prude and conservative and perhaps to some, close-minded. Real maids, I respected. Their humble attitudes, their patience. Real maids were hardworking. Cosplay maids, however, were..._suggestive_. They were...

Well.

They weren't real maids.

I watched as a couple strode out as if they'd enjoyed themselves, smiles on their faces like it didn't matter whether there'd be a tomorrow, and there was a moment where I second guessed myself. That is, until two guys came out after them with thick red blushes on their faces and a conversation in which they argued which maid was cuter.

"_You may be able to learn a bit if you try it for yourself!"_

I bit my lip and gulped. Now, I suddenly wished that shameless fool had come along so that I could feel reassured again.

_I'm not doing anything wrong__, __I'm not doing anything wrong, __I'm not doing anything wrong, __I'm not doing anything_ wrong—

I chanted the words to myself as if the repetition would counter my feelings of hesitance. It was a cafe. With maids. Simple. A cafe. With _maids_.

The image of the red car at the gas station flashed through my mind and sent shivers down my skin.

Perhaps I was just feeling extra courageous today because of the event earlier on the rooftop.

___I'm not doing anything wrong__, __I'm not doing anything wrong-_

A light bell rung as I entered the shop.

"Welcome, Madam."

A tall, dark haired woman with light glasses greeted me with a smile. I likewise bowed.

She led me to a table and I ordered from a menu, which seemed rather..._normal_. I looked around me as I waited for the melon parfait I'd ordered. I was here on business: data collection. To improve the deserts at Panto, I would learn by experience. Evidently, it wasn't the reason Baa-san had wanted me out, but it was the goal. A clear, unhindered-

"Here is your Moe Moe Omlette! What kind of message would you want me to write?"

Goal.

I heard the cutesy voice and was afraid to turn around. The chant in my mind began again and I secretly wished that no one from school would have had the nerve to come in here.

_Not doing anything wrong..._

I sipped the tea provided until my desert arrived. A flower hung along the wall caught my attention. It was an intoxicating crimson red, its petals soft even from afar, its luscious shape, enchanting. Then behind it, the green wall. The variously shaded green walls that bordered the inside of the cafe were inviting and in their own way, homely yet entirely professional. And they reminded me nothing of the walls in my apartment, which, in stark, stark contrast, were plain, boring, and cold.

A gentle, voice spoke from my side as a dish was set before me. I snapped out of my daze and smiled as she left to attend others. I had no words to say. It was a maid cafe. A _maid_ cafe. And in spite of the frivolous wear, the suggestive tones under the cafe's very name, it was decent.

I looked down at my desert.

The presentation was eye-opening, creative, colorful, lively. The red, orange, and green balls of fruit added an effervescence to the parfait, and was complemented by a light layer of smooth whip cream below. Within the cup lied alternating layers of mind-easing light greens and frothy whites. It was the kind of display different enough from the chocolate mousse I'd made before. It was summery.

It was something that I thought I'd seen before.

Who was the chef?

It made me itch.

Would it have been strange to ask? To see who it was behind the curtains and whose familiar handiwork it was?

I blamed my courage on the day, a day that I'd survived without much rest, a day that I'd thrown two bags of cookies off school building in broad daylight.

"Could I meet the chef?"

The burgundy-haired maid I talked to looked surprised, and excused herself as she walked to the back of the shop, entering an area blocked off with a curtain. Anxiously, I waited.

I could have just imagined things. Imagined the familiarity of the desert, its structure, its colors, its placement. Could have.

_I'm still not doing..._

The maid returned and escorted me to a table closer to the back of the shop, near the curtains. When asked whether I had any other requests, I declined and watched her leave.

...a_nything.._

I heard a shuffle of cloth and looked up at the curtains, which had fallen back. My eyes traced the curtain edge and the black cloth that was now beside it. The cloth looked as if it were made for pants designed for men.

I gulped and slowly raised my eyes to meet the chef's.

_...wrong._

A somewhat disturbed pair of green eyes stared back at me as I felt the excitement in my heart, held high in suspense, fall low to my gut.

One eyebrow raised, Usui Takumi stared down at the jarred me, whose dark eyes had widened and whose mouth had fallen open.

I gulped again as the silence between us hung heavy in the atmosphere.

"Oi! Usui," a familiar voice called.

A figure followed behind him and emerged from the curtains.

"What are you stari-"

My eyes then locked with a fierce amber gone frightened yellow.

There stood the respected student council president clothed in an ornate, black and white maid's uniform, shaken to the core.

"Ayuzawa...-san?"

* * *

**A/N:**

_Completely revamped, this is chapter two! I originally wrote this chapter over a year ago, but now in June 2012, when I'm going back and trying to make my story the best it can be, I've rewritten large chunks of this entire chapter (Sorry old readers!)_

_Thanks so much to those who reviewed the prologue and first chapter (and I guess every chapter up to chapter 6)! I love hearing your guys' feedback and encouragement. Thank you, thank you, **thank you**!_

_To everyone else, thanks for reading! Please review and leave me critique, comments, suggestions because they make me feel awesome and make you all super cool people._

_- Emiko_


	4. Ch 3: Intrusion

**Head in the Sky**

Chapter |03|: Intrusion

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_Hello, this is Heart-Sleeved Girl, or Emiko. As with chapter two, this chapter has been changed since it was last written a little under a year ago. Here is chapter 3, redone as of July 2012._

* * *

Not even a pin would dared to have dropped.

It was a tension that left everything in sight suspended, as if stillness were the only way to survive. It was a tension that muted all the surroundings, all the rustle, hustle, and bustle, all the cute maid voices, and all the cooing and coy, and all the clinking glassware. It was a tension that only the three Seika High students standing in the corner of Maid Latte could feel.

Misaki could feel her heart thud against its walls, her chest rise in a quickness that reality found painfully slow, her eardrums ache with the pounds of a heartbeat she couldn't stop. She told herself that she was careful, that in every manner and way she did what she could to protect her image as student council president, to protect the respect that she'd demanded and earned with her strength and her strength only. Pride was supposed to be a shield that reinforced her love of her job—but it wasn't. She loved her job, her boss, the smiles the customers gave her when she served them, the easygoing atmosphere. She loved it.

But change was hard. And she knew that.

She was prideful to a point that even she knew was unfair. She prided herself on her very pride; it was something she could not exist without. It defined her perseverance, her burning will to fight.

Or perhaps it was the other way around, and she had yet to figure it out.

For Misaki, however, the issue at hand took priority above all the thinking and change; if she didn't do something now, it would be too late and all the thinking in the world wouldn't have changed the consequences.

"-yuzawa-san," the girl's voice broke the three-man silence, "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

Not "I'm surprised to see you here" or "What a pleasant surprise." Not even a shocked "Oh..." or a nervously averted gaze.

It was only a bow. A bow and those colder-than-cold words "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

She could feel her lungs quiver. Words that should have been such a relief because there was no taunting or mockery, were scalding. It was hard to explain why, why Misaki felt threatened not by the discovery of her secret, but the underlying understanding. A cutting type of empathy. The idea that she, as a student council president with a secret to hide, was seen through so easily. It was the indifference behind her classmate's words and the stone-hard wall of judgement that landed between them.

There was something about her that was...

"W-wait!"

...wrong.

Instinctively, her hand clasped around the unfamiliar girl's thin, bony shoulder, a shoulder unlike her own firm, muscular one.

"Wait," she said, her mind spinning, "Can I talk to you outside?"

Koizumi, with her back turned, shifted her head to the side, looking at the president from the corner of one sharp eye. A jolt shot through Misaki's skin. Cold. Freezing cold.

But the girl turned around with a practiced smile, saying, "Ayuzawa-san, you're very..."

A customer laughed in the background, exclaiming in utter disbelief, "Really now?" Her friend laughed in response, "Yes, yes! It really happened just like that!" The silence was dissolving; the surroundings had begun to melt back into the conversation. The noises returned and interfered, as if it wouldn't have mattered if a million pins had dropped.

"...shaken up."

Her tone had the kind of "politeness" that reminded her of Igarashi Tora. And that was why it was troubling. Agitating.

For a moment, Misaki loosened her grip on the girl's shoulder.

"Why would you say," the president's voice shook, "that I was bothered?"

A flicker returned to her golden eyes like a wet match that'd been stricken and somehow lit. She was firing up and readying her aggression for another battle. Male or female, any type of "Igarashi" was unwelcome in her eyes. Filthy, disgusting, vile. The pseudo-Nadeshiko, though, kept her eyes to the corner of a table beside them and tightened her hold on the bag in her right hand. Then there was a moment when the maid saw something that hinted hesitance, a gentler empathy than before. The thinning of the wall. Her hand released and her arm dropped.

"Because I could see it on your face."

A dish fell. Gasps followed after the shrill sound of shattering. Misaki instantly looked away to the scene of the accident, feeling the urgency to help as she dropped her arm to move. Usui, whose presence she'd forgotten, patted her once on the arm before leaving in her place.

"Usui..."

She looked between the girl and the broken plate between at Subaru's crouched, apologetic figure. She needed to resolve this, quick.

Before Misaki could say another word, however, Koizumi continued, "I...don't spill."

"W-"

"I don't _spill_." Her voice was more confident and her eyes had softened in the slightest manner possible.

The maid stared, unsure what to say. She didn't know the girl well enough to say one thing or another, though she found her choice of words far too uncanny for the current situation. She had no questions she could ask, though myriads of them swam in her mind. She had nothing but confusion. So she stared on at the girl before her, noting again the almost unnaturally straight strands of dark black hair and sheltered, pale skin that characterized her small-frame. Had her skin bore more color and her hair, more shine, then she may have seemed like a children's doll that people adored and showcased behind glass doors. Had her eyes not narrowed in the way that they narrowed with nonchalance and a hint of arrogance, she might have looked friendly and open. Koizumi Atsuko, though, did not look like any of those things, not cheery, not a doll, and especially not a _cheery_ _doll_. Rather, she seemed more like she needed to be dusted and polished. It wasn't the visibly the clean outer appearance but the inner Atsuko, the doll could-be, the rusting mechanical figurine.

The gears churned and the figurine turned once again, her flat back uncrinkling from Misaki's strong grasp. All the sounds flooded in and suddenly, Misaki couldn't feel the thud of her heart on her eardrums anymore than she could the falling of a thumbtack from the plaster walls. She watched her Nadeshiko classmate exit the door and faintly mumble, as if to herself, "Thank you for the food."

* * *

I could feel the autumn breeze twisting my hair, tangling it in its intangible fingers like silk thread.

The image of Ayuzawa's widened yellow eyes lingered as I rounded the corner on my way home.

_"Eyes are the windows to one's soul," they_ say.

Whoever 'they' was had been _spot on_.

The nearly set sun was peeked from the edge of the earth, leaving glimmers of its rays before the day could actually be called "evening." The sky was filled with the familiar sunset gradient that caught all eyes. The clouds hovered in wisps, giant masses that stretched across the sky as if being sucked toward the sun, which, like a vacuum, drew everything toward itself.

The light at the crosswalk flashed red. I stopped.

We all were selfish, the suns of our own solar systems. What we wanted, we pulled toward us as much as possible. Even the little things that we didn't want, we pulled. We pulled in and without regard. Anyone and everyone, we all shined because we were individuals. So the only underlying difference among us?

The light flashed green and I found myself caught in a crowd that subtly pushed me forward across the street. Old men, young couples, businessmen, middle schoolers— people moved in an accidentally formed mass that grew and grew until we inevitably pulled apart and scattered.

_Brightness_.

The sky had become increasingly blue, the contrasting, warm hues of orange gold and fuchsia disappearing with the sun. I continued to walk in the shadows of the buildings on my left.

_Who shined brighter..._

"**_Koizumi-san_**!"

..._and who didn't?_

I looked further up ahead, where a soiled blue uniform waved its arm as it ran closer and closer toward me. It was tall and lean with a messy brown head that was brushed back in the self-created breeze of its run.

"_Koizumi-san!_" he called again, a certain joy in his voice. He swung his familiar grease-stained towel in the air, completely unaware that he'd almost whipped the faces of two schoolgirls and an old grandmother. I could feel the astonished gazes of passers-by fixated on the two of us.

It was getting late, and I'd used up too much energy being "respectful" earlier.

"Shintani-san," I managed to greet, "good evening."

My face was sore enough to tell me that the muscles in my face and neck were both the most tones muscles in my body.

Sheepishly, the blue clad part-timer grinned even wider and responded, "Evening! What are you doing in this area?"

"Ah...me? Visiting, you could say."

"Hmm? I see. I'm running an errand for the old boss man! He sure likes to make me run for my wages."

I heard a man behind me clear his throat . I stepped off to the side, out of his way. Shintani's eyes widened in surprise and stepped off as well.

"We must be in the way—"

"Ah!" the boy exclaimed, still oblivious to the annoyance of others on the sidewalk.

I wanted to roll my eyes.

His hands rushed to his pockets and when he found them empty, he patted himself frantically.

"Ehhh? I can't believe I didn't bring it..."

If there was anything I'd learned from Shintani's behavior, it was that Shintani was a young child in a seventeen year-old's body. As he pouted, he unconsciously puffed his cheeks and wore _the look_. It was a look that some took to their advantage as late as their seventies and a look that all children possessed. Yes, the look was a look of shiny, innocuous eyes the size of large, glass marbles that shimmered with the craving for a sympathy that puppies and bunnies could seduce from even an ex-convict.

For this reason, talking to Shintani while developing a migraine was much easier than otherwise predicted.

"Did you drop it on the way here?"

"Gah! That would be really bad... I was going to give it to... someone..." He kept looking around himself as if acting more frantically would increase the likelihood of finding his possession. The weariness of the day was getting to my head; my mind felt slow, as if its inner gears needed to be oiled.

_Golden, amber, ...or yellow?_

His frantic searching reminded me of her eyes.

_"Why would you say that I was bothered?"_

"Ayuzawa...-san, right? Did she enjoy the sweets?"

His face flushed a light, peachy pink as he finally looked up from his baggy uniform. He was too easy to deduce.

"Whenever I'm with Koizumi-san, it seems that the conversation always goes back to Misaki-chan," he half-chuckled, "but she..."

There was a softness in those fudge-colored eyes that made me want to squirm and loosen the tightness that formed in the pit of my gut. It was almost too pitiful. His ultimate devotion gone because of something he couldn't control.

"...she actually enjoyed them a lot! She was so cute, oh—I want to see that expression again!"

Too pitiful.

I nodded with a smile that didn't seem to lift up entirely.

He, as bright as he was, couldn't pull hard enough. In a world where the illumination of Ayuzawa and Usui was, together, all too blinding, Shintani seemed dim and barely aflare. And even all the smiles and all the gravity and all the effort capable of his little earnest self would not have been enough. It was sad.

"I see...that's good."

In comparison to mine, his voice and tone were hearty and happy, jubilant even. His gesture of love had been small and the reward, even smaller. Yet, he cherished, savored it as if it itself was greater than all the sum of all the flavors of food possible.

And it was sad.

"B-but Koizumi-san, I really have you to thank for that! Ah, those sweets were so good...too bad I ate them so quickly, but they were just so tasty and sweet and...so delicious—"

"Sh-shintani-san, you're about to drool again—"

"E-eh?"

I didn't believe it. I could have, but I didn't. The notion that for even an _iota_ of a second, as he described his grateful, jumbled thoughts in broken sentences... I'd almost blushed.

I didn't believe it.

And I could feel the heat rising and bubbling below my untrained cheeks, my naive, inexperienced cheeks, as he rambled on to other things that did not concern me at all. But I foolishly stared at the ground, finding it hard not to feel moved for an even _more_ foolish boy who only spout foolish words.

I blamed it on the arriving nighttime, on the departing sun, on the day's fatigue, on the fact that Shintani was more careless, oblivious, and transparent than anyone I'd ever met in my life.

"Shintani-san."

The sky was now entirely blue. The hues strewn across earlier had vanished without a trace and the clouds seemed only like mysterious bumps in the sky. Sharp edges of a luminous white had begun to cut its way in and reign, for one more night, the darkening expanse. Evening had truly begun.

The boy's ears perked at his name, his head snapping up instantly. Street lamps and neon signs were beginning to light up; his wide eyes glistened. I almost forgot what I was going to say.

"I...It's getting a little late. We should probably start heading back."

He blinked blankly at me before briefly looking side to side and registering the changes around him.

"Wh-Whoa! It's already dark? Oh, my boss is going to kill me!" The panic that escaped before returned and he began to sweat with a different sort of nervousness this time around.

"I hope you find what you're looking for," I commented as we both began to move past each other. We spun to face each other slowly because in the gravity of our conversation, we were pulled together. I was stuck due to politeness, respect, whatever social norm that prevented me from simply ignoring him. But him? He stayed to talk simply because he was kind.

The dam we'd formed in the middle of the sidewalk broke as we drifted farther and farther. And like the rushing waters, people began to stream through between us.

One hand cupping his mouth, he yelled, meters away, "I hope so too! It was a present for _you!_"

_What...?_

I couldn't bring myself to move.

"Good night!"

The shadow of his back-turned figure faded as he shrunk into the distance, his hand up in a parting gesture, his cry audible from distances away. We'd parted and his brightness had gone, soaring through a galaxy of hundreds of other stars that seemed to intervene.

My breath was caught in my throat.

_"That would be really bad... I was going to give it to... someone..."_

I couldn't even bid him a proper goodnight.

"O-oi, young lady! Young lady, please move, you're in the way here!"

It hurt.

The lead in my feet, the weight of my legs.

"Hey you!"

The sudden heat of my blood and the stone in my chest.

"Excuse me!"

_We all are selfish._

"-ove! Please move!"

_So the only underlying difference among us?_

"**_Thank_ **you. Goodness, kids these days."

It all hurt.

_Brightness._

* * *

Everything was going right.

At the moment, there wasn't a reason in the world for Shintani Hinata to have worn anything less than a brilliant, shining smile. In his mind, he'd succeeded at just about all that he'd aimed for: he'd found his childhood love, gotten a job, made wonderful friends, put a gorgeous smile on the face of the childhood beauty he adored, and even got to eat scrumptious, mouth-watering sweets while he was at it. Sure, there were some humps and bumps along the way, but that was to be expected! It _was_ life he was dealing with after all! Nothing came easily. But to him, every single success overcame the sum of all his failures ten times over. Life, he thought, was fantastic.

_Everything _was going _right_.

In the midst of the night, when the stars above the busy, unfamiliar city had begun to twinkle with the same glee that filled his chest, Hinata had finally finished his shift at the Ideyuna gas station and was off to the one place that he could have stayed forever: Maid Latte.

That was for one reason and one reason only: Ayuzawa Misaki.

She was the melody to his harmony, the key to his lock, the ink to his pen, the icing to his cake, the dazzling, golden apple of his wide, chocolate-coated eye.

To him, she was _the **one**_. The _only_ **_one_**_._

The mere fact that he'd found her so quickly after his initial departure deluded him into to believing that fate was on his cheery, earnest side. There was no reason for him to believe otherwise. There never _had _been and according to his reaffirmed trust in fate, there never _would_ be. And not for a minute of a second had he thought to realize that perhaps the red string of fate lingering at his side—

"Misaki-chan~"

"Oh, Hinata-kun!"

—had already gotten him tangled, choked, and blindfolded like an absolute fool.

Hinata had burst through the glass door of Maid Latte with the kind of mirth that suggested he'd won the lottery. Erika eyed him at his loud, obnoxious entrance, recalling the previous days where he'd done almost done the exact same. The reason for the 'almost,' though, was that today, he had an even greater leap in his step and a wider smile on his face. Something was up, and it made her curious.

"Misa-chan's in the back taking out the trash. She'll be—"

"Got it, thanks!"

The red-haired maid continued sweeping with a smirk. Reminiscing fondly of her own bright-eyed high school days, she turned to the nearby Subaru with a matured grin. The door that had just opened quickly slammed shut with a jingle of the shop bell._  
_

_Oh, the __high school __drama..._

* * *

Outside, an anxious, raven-haired maid swung a massive white bag into the garbage can by the door. The clinking of broken glassware within caused her eyes to flicker with recognition. The single incident had been haunting her the rest of the evening, not once leaving her worries. Once again, her secret had been discovered—and there was nothing she could have done about it.

_Coincidences like these_, she thought bitterly, _sucked the worst._

Her mouth twisted into a disgusted frown. Her troubled amber eyes remained on heap of trash she'd just set down, its white, plastic wrap stretched and tight. Standing in the alleyway, Misaki was surrounded with the silence she hadn't yet wanted to face; with the silence only came thoughts. Thoughts were never merciful.

_"Because I could see it on your face."_

It was frustrating. Not the discovery itself, but how it progressed. Not Koizumi as a person, but as a _revealer_.

"Hmm?" the familiar voice mused, "I guess I should get the muzzle... Down girl! Down! No picking through the tr-"

"**Who are you calling a dog, stupid Usui!**"_  
_

Balled fists threateningly grasping the front of his white collar shirt, nonchalant blond at the doorway laughed in monotone, completely unfazed by the maid's short-tempered reaction. He could see the anguish ablaze in her large, golden eyes as she pulled him close, hard enough that if she pulled any harder, his shirt would have torn in two. She was close, her cheeks red and burning with the bottled vexation in her chest. It was times like these when she failed to realize how close they actually were that he wanted to just...

"**What are you staring at?**"

...steal her lips away.

"You're right," he teased, "you're better suited for sexy cat ears..._don't nya think_?"

For Usui, the subsequent fireworks of deep magenta that flared across her entire face made for the best type of nighttime display. Her grip tightened. He could hear the seams of his shirt begin to tear as the girl before him shouted violently, "_**Don't 'don't nya think' me! You stupid, perverted space alien! Go back!**_"

Her expressions were always the cutest.

His mouth opened to spout another comeback, but she'd looked down, away.

"...don't...make fun of me." Voice quivering, bangs shading her eyes, the respected student council president trailed off with a certain fatigue in the shadows below her normally unbreakable eyes. She loosened her grip on him, turning to the side.

To comfort her. What did that mean? To distract her with more teasing? To embrace her? To tell her the honest, harsh words that reminded her she was one of the most stubborn, insolent women he'd ever faced in his life?

He moved.

She gasped.

The fall was light, almost as if she, for a moment in time, hovered. The breeze that brushed along her body, chilling. The collision of her back to his chest, hard and soft at the same time. Whenever he pulled her into him so easily, she recalled why she couldn't shoo him away like any other guy.

The touch of his skin made her heart skip. The touch of her skin made him remember: _self-control_.

"Prez," he breathed in her ear, "you make this so much harder—"

A beat.

"—than it needs to be."

Her heart was racing and it made her mad for reasons that she would never admit to herself.

She struggled to escape his arms, his mold, his perverted, breathtaking ambiance. And he likewise struggled to release her, fighting the testosterone that fueled his urge to hold her down. Ayuzawa Misaki was the cutest as a tsundere.

"U-Usui..."

He rested his chin atop her shoulder, smelling hints of the cheap shampoo she'd used that morning and would use again tonight.

"Let me go..."

She wasn't very convincing.

"Oh? Maybe if you say it."

"S-Say what?" Her voice exclaimed in harsh whispers.

"_Nya~_"

"W-Wha-"

"_Nya~_"

Heat radiated off her cheeks. He could feel it.

"Just let me g-"

"_Nyaaa~_"

His voice was low and his breath was hot against her exposed collarbone. She cursed at her maid attire and at the shame and embarrassment that boiled in her veins. She cursed at her weakness to his strength. She cursed at Usui Takumi for being a stupid, perverted space alien.

"N-nn-n—"

Usui blinked, eyebrows raised.

"Nn-ny-nn-nya—"

"Pfft."

He let go, feeling her warmth escape his arms in an instant. She stumbled out, almost hitting the garbage she'd just disposed.

Astounded, she turned to him in disbelief. "Wh-what are you laughing at?"

He, a hand to his mouth, looked to his left, averting her astonished gaze as she questioned him.

"Wait! W-wait, you told me to say it! So stop laughing, you idiot!"

And as she reached for his white shirt for the second time that night, he waved his free hand before him, suppressing his laughter, the surprise and unexpected satisfaction from her naive efforts. Humiliated, she watched as he calmed, as his chuckles faded and his jade green eyes returned her stare.

"As expected of Prez."

The flutter in her chest was already painful enough, and only the man before her could have simultaneously worsened and alleviated the burden. It was something that had been going on for a while now and even up until now, she hadn't found the answer or the solution.

One hand back on his crinkled chest, she mumbled, "What...am I going to do?"

He looked down at her with the lightest of grins, and with one hand on her head answered simply: "What you always do."

The silence of the night was beginning to settle. It was late, and lights had completely illuminated all but the alleyway where they stood, a place where there was one lamp hovering above their heads.

"What kind of a stupid answer is that?"

"...I'll give you a better one if you meow again."

"Sh-shut up!"

"Hmmm?"

Brown. Usui's eyes flickered at the sight of the familiar strands of annoying brown hair lingering behind the wall at the front of the alley. It was irksome and it made him... _antsy_.

"So," he started, looking back down at the maid before him. He'd decided his next move, as if playing a game of chess, and pulled the girl's head in. His lips tickled her ear as he cooed, "Does that mean you'll put on the cat ears?"

There was a devious smile in his voice that made her thwart him over the head and finally walk back into the cafe. He was stupid. An idiot. A _perverted_, _lecherous, cat-obsessed **idiot**_ who deserved to be thrown back into outer space.

"G-go die..."

He looked at her small back, its stiff shoulders, the delicate frills on the laces that strapped around the maid uniform that disappeared from his view as the door shut. She'd escaped once again.

Before following after the chagrin-stricken student council president, Usui glanced back at the entrance of the alleyway from the corner of his eye. The strands of hair that he'd witnessed earlier had fled the scene; one moment there, and another moment, gone. Assured, the tall blonde turned the door knob and re-entered the closing Maid Latte.

A confident, victorious smirk played at his lips.

_"All's fair in love and war."_

* * *

Tangled, choked, and blindfolded.

He didn't know.

Back against the hard, concrete walls, he barely supported himself. Numbness had stricken his limbs. Emptiness resonated in the hollow cavity of his chest. The electrifying confidence that surged through his veins came to an inaudibly high-pitched, ear-piercing halt.

It was nine, Maid Latte was closing, and he didn't know.

He didn't know that the red string of fate could be so cruel. Twisted. Violently knotted. A scorching, seering scarlet.

Shock was the only thing that kept Hinata from leaving. It was the only thing that kept his eyes dazed, his mind shrunken and shriveled, his legs quivering with a tiredness he'd not felt in years—not since he'd lost his parents.

_Why?_

There was no answer. There could never have been an answer. And if there was, he, of all people, couldn't have found it.

_Why?_

Was it arrogance on his behalf? Was it because he was too late? Was this a test from fate itself?

_Why?_

The street was crowded and the flow of human traffic hadn't changed. Back and forth, there were people constantly moving and changing direction in front of him, some even staring at him, muttering about his still figure. To them, he was shady. To him, they were shadows. Everyone was moving, but he was stuck, frozen. Tangled and caught.

The question was ingrained and he couldn't get it out because it was all in his head—the conversation, the holding, the hugging, the closeness, the blushing—all of it was burned into his memory and tied down by that scarring red string.

"See you tomorrow!"

A thud.

"Bye-bye, Misa-chan! See you tomorrow and remember to rest well!"

"Got it!"

She was coming.

"What are you doing following me? As if you didn't harass me enough!"

The hairs on his skin stood as the biting cold sent deep shivers down his back.

"Hmm? But I'm your loyal stalker from outer sp-"

"S-Shintani!"

Another thud. Could he handle it?

The muscles in his entire arm tensed, his hand instinctively curling into one dense ball of fear, hesitance, and all the unmanly things he thought he'd overcome long ago.

"M-Misaki-chan! Good work today! Must have been hard work, huh?"

One step. One step forward for outer-self, and one step inward for the being in him that was frightened to death of what she would say, how she would react, and how she really, honestly felt.

He smiled as wide as he possibly could.

She blinked with blank golden eyes reflecting back at her childhood friend.

"Y-yeah...What are you doing here?" she responded, curious, concerned. She herself had worn a muffler tonight. When her breath started becoming visible in the air, she took that as a sign that the winter headgear needed to come out of her closet for the season.

"Just stopping by to say good night, of course," he said casually, "I never get to see you enough at school!"

He tried to pout, and didn't know whether it worked. He hoped, oh he hoped, that it worked.

She raised her eyebrow in half-amusement, half-disbelief. The girl was gorgeous regardless of _what_ expression she made. That made his chest all the more cold. "I see you all day in class, don't I?"

Cold and tight and empty.

"There's no way that's enough," he laughed. He could feel the effects of his prolonged smiling; the effort was wearing off and he could feel the green eyes staring at him. He thought before that he'd imagined it, that irritated glare.

Apparently not.

"Well...I need to head home and study for that test tomorrow," she said, raising an arm as she looked at her watch, "You need to study hard too and stop fooling around! I can't watch out for you forever, and I certainly can't and _won't _keep track of your grades."A finger pointed sharply at him, Misaki lectured with a type of sternness that people mistook for cruelty. Her eyebrows curved downward in the serious, protective concern that he'd known since they were little. It made him glad, a little more confident, a little less pained. That was the kind of effect she had on people. She gave them glimmers of hope when they needed it most with the smallest of gestures and words.

Hope.

"Alright, I'll do my best!"

As he expressed some teaspoon of determination he'd mustered up, Hinata spot the wallet in the the hand pointed at him.

"Shintani, go for i—"

"Misaki-chan, what's that?"

Etched in a little rectangle behind a screen of plastic was a pale face framed by straight, black bangs and long, curtain-like hair. The expression was plain and lacked a smile; if it'd belonged to anyone else, one might have expected that the photographer took the photo too soon. But it was her. Most definitely.

"Ah, someone forgot her wallet at the cafe and it happens to be someone I—"

"Koizumi-san, right? Hm? That's strange."

"You're familiar with her?" Golden eyes wide and eyebrows arched high, the president herself was astounded that he was more familiar with a girl at Seika than she was. And he'd just transferred in!

"Y-yeah! Not _that _way," he reassured clearly, "but she's really nice!"

Nice. Kind and patient and did favors and brought him sweets.

"I see..."

_"You're very...shaken up."_

For him, the mention of Koizumi Atsuko brought to mind the word "nice." But for Misaki, it couldn't have been more different.

Images of hard, black pools had resurfaced to Misaki's mind like the bubbles in a soda ready to burst. The eyes that had stared at her and discovered her secret, the eyes that bluntly revealed and at the same time, guarded. Those were the eyes that made Ayuzawa Misaki stumble in her confidence.

"Misaki-chan? ...M-Misaki-chan?"

Hinata watched as the grip on the wallet loosened and reached for her arm.

But he was beat to it. As if measuring her frame, two other hands clasped to both sides of her upper arms in an instance. Green eyes ignited.

"Ayuzawa."

It pulled him back. Hinata retracted his hand as her head turned back to the blonde that had been silent until now. The closeness, the hugging, the holding all came back to him like a nightmare. Like a scar left by that stupid, red string.

Ashamed, the brunette looked away childishly, unable to face his own pitiful defeat.

Misaki, jarred, turned back with her eyes to the wallet in her hands and finally answered, "O-oh right...Koizumi-san...right..."

Even the photo on Koizumi's I.D. didn't look straight back at her.

"Misaki-chan, I can return it to her. That way you'll have less to care about!"

She hadn't noticed the difference in the midst of her own little relapse. Swimming in her own worries, she hadn't realized that the peppiness that came from the tan boy standing before her with his hands out happily was dead and killing him in the process. She needed to study, sleep, and get up once more as the student council president. She needed to rest her mind, and that's why she, although somewhat hesitant, agreed, "Sure...be careful."

If the photo I.D. was in her hands any longer, she might have gone insane.

He took the wallet with a tight clutch the moment its fake leather hit his skin. And if it was anything she'd noticed that night, it was the strength of his hand as he accidentally pushed down to grab it.

_Shintani...?_

"...Well, good night, Misaki-chan! Sleep well!"

His feet were itching to hit the pavement and take off. Back half-turned, he waved to her with his version of a worn smile.

"Yeah...d-don't forget to study!"

The wallet's skin wrinkled in his hands, whose veins and muscles bulged like walls rising below his skin. Shops, stores, offices, apartments—one by one, he passed them by, them and their blurring, dimming lights. In the cold night air, along the darkening sidewalk before him, Hinata grimaced and clenched his teeth.

Everything had been going right.

* * *

Dough slammed to the wooden board with a thick thunk. Flour rose to the air in clouds of powdery white smoke.

My wallet was gone. And it was probably _there_.

Peeling off the dough, whose flattened face was smooth to the touch, I folded it in half, beginning to knead once more.

Memories of yesterday zoomed through my mind like a film strip on a high-speed reel. The resulting headache reminded me why I'd taken the morning off from school. Some days just weren't worth it.

Especially with a newly emptied bottle of pain-killers waiting to irritate someone who already had a migraine.

I picked up the dough in its deformed, lumpy mold.

My wallet was gone and it was at the only place that I wouldn't re-enter: _Maid Latte._

Slam.

Thud.

_Good job, **genius**._

Flour.

"A-chan! Take care of the store for a bit while I head out, 'kay?"

Chiyako-baa-san called from the front desk where the register sat. Hearing shuffling footsteps and a creaking door panel, I soon called back, "Got it; have a safe trip!"

_And don't lose your wallet!_

I peeled the dough off again and slammed it back to the counter. For a second, I wondered who felt worse: the dough, the counter, or me?

Fingers jammed in the soft, cream-yellow glob, I felt the crevices I created, the heat that I added to a dough that had once been cool to my skin. Squeezing it, I childishly treated the dough like a stress ball gone wrong. Its thick, foreign, malleable nature drew a hand's attention like a shiny, new Transformers doll to a little, robot-crazed boy. Therapeutic was the only word I could use to describe dough. Therapeutic and tasty.

It almost made me feel bad.

Picking it up again, I chucked it down to the counter forcefully, expecting a mushroom cloud of white to erupt.

_Almost._

I could feel the headache leaving as my hands dug more and more into the pasty, pre-baked _Heaven-for-Fingers_. I think that if I could've, I would've already married dough itself, it and its wholesome, therapeutic goodness.

It would have saved me the trouble of dealing with any marital conflicts after all; the thing about inanimate objects was simply that: they couldn't _actually_ talk back.

In a final motion, I rolled out the dough into a single, smooth slab, feeling a certain peace glow within me as I approached the last steps in the pre-baking process. The dough seemed to shriek in horror as I pulled out, in what felt like pure ecstasy, the gleaming metal cookie cutters.

With every press of the bear outline, thoughts about my wallet, about Maid Latte, about a silly student council president and her ridiculous secret, faded, as if diffusing from my hands to the very dough I was cutting. My eyes shut in the quiet tranquility of the bakery. The cutting was rhythmic, almost as if I could picture it all in my mind without sparing a single look.

This was what I could call "carefree," a state of psuedo-lightheartedness bestowed upon those who, for an instance in time, could simply _live_.

_"It was a present for **you**!"_

And just like that, it was gone.

My eyes shot open as I looked back down at the slab of yellow laying in front of me.

_Ugh..._

Two overlapping bears, intersecting at the rounded shoulders and the legs. Heads sat side-by-side.

Sickening.

The once-suppressed thoughts, like the parted waters of the Red Sea, suddenly flooded back in, crashing and bashing until all that was left were tumultuous waves. Like being struck from above by a waterfall that didn't stop and kept on going, rushing down ceaselessly.

"U-um!" a light voice called from the counter. Young, bright.

I stepped back from the counter and shook myself, triggering a shiver across my skin.

The last thing I needed was the slack off.

"Ummm...!" it repeated.

Right.

Reaching the counter, I glanced down at the child whose ruffled brown hair held a mature, feminine hand. It was the hand of a mother, a gentle half-scolding, half-caressing touch upon his head.

Without hesitation, he yelled, "Chocolate cake! One slice of chocolate cake!"

"...Kentarou..." the mother warned, eyeing her child carefully.

As I slid open the refrigerated display to grab and package the requested desert, he added, "...p-please!"

And by the time the little box had reached his hands, his eyes had had grown larger than ever, radiating with the type of sheer delight that dominated even that of a doe prancing in a flower-filled meadow. He giggled a childish giggle that might as well have overflowed with rainbows and butterflies, given the degree of innocence at hand. There was nothing for me to say, mock, chastise in my mind. I stood, a plain cashier, basking in the rays of a mere child's teethy expression. In it bore a lifetime of lightheartedness that had took me five slams of dough on a counter to achieve—and I only sustained two minutes.

"Thank you!" he chimed, as his mother plopped a few coins into my hand and chuckled her motherly chuckle.

Grateful? Appreciative? Relieved?

I wasn't sure what I felt as I handed the mother a receipt and their backs began to turn.

All I knew was that if I hadn't been smiling the whole way through, then even I would've considered myself...

"Bye-bye!"

...inhuman.

I waved in return as the warmth he brought in left along with him. The pair's figures faded behind the glass panels. The jingle of the doorbell was my cue to drop my hand. I opened my eyes from my smile.

"K-koizumi-san?"

Then I instantly wished I hadn't.

"Hehhh?" he uttered with awe, "Koizumi-san, you work _here_?"

It wasn't a secret and never had been. I never intended for it to be a secret, seeing as I took no shame in the job. There was no logical reason for me to have felt the slight panic and shock that I'd felt. There was no justified explanation for the sudden collapse of my lungs or the tightening of my chest. None of it made sense, and briefly, I empathized with Ayuzawa and the shaky paranoia she'd fallen into the day before—except even then, her reason was pride. Mine?

It surprised even me that no one from Seika had ever seen me in this bakery since the day I began part-timing. And I indulged in it, the secrecy, the solitude, the solid wall that separated the judgement of my schoolmates from my personal life. The lack of obligation, involvement, and attachment. An inherent and ironic...freedom.

There was no secret to hide or mystery to solve.

"Yes, Shintani-san. I do."

Only the intrusion of a fortress that should been eternally unreachable.

He blinked and I waited.

And aside from the tick of the timer behind me, the room was silent.

The corners of his lips lifted and I realized how, in retrospect, such a reaction was typical Shintani.

"That's the _**best**!_"

Perfectly imperfect.

He went on, "_That's_ how you got the cookies so fast! No wonder I couldn't find them in the supermarkets or convenience stores. No fair! You know, I thought it was weird that you always smelled so sweet but now it makes so much sense!"

His voice was loud and his whiny, cheerful exclamations, strangely refreshing.

"Ah, but now, I don't know if the present I got for you is good enough. It looks pretty good but someone who works in a bakery like this must be pretty picky, huh?"

He laughed sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck and I had no choice but to stare blankly, stupidly. I didn't know what sort of reaction I'd been expecting. If it were anyone else, it would have felt awkward and emotionally draining. I would have been greeted with a polite "Hello" and some other useless, polite questions whose sole purposes were to avoid further awkward silences and uphold the social standards of adequate conversation. But there wouldn't have been as much shock and fear. There wouldn't have been the inward panic characteristic of claustrophobia. There would have simply been the knowledge that somewhere out there _knew_ and would judge accordingly. It would have been natural, too, if opinions about me changed at school.

So why was it that _Shintani_ was... different?

"Y-yeah..."

I mustered a soft grin.

"Ah!" he cried, his eyebrows jumping, "That's right! I also have your wallet. I got it from Misaki-chan but you weren't at school this morning. Good thing I have my stuff with me..."

Hands shuffling through his pockets, the boy searched for the wallet as if digging for the prize at the bottom of a cereal box. His tongue stuck out from the side of his mouth and he looked up as he dug deeper into his pockets. It was childish.

I was at a loss.

"Oh, there we go. Here! Ta-da~"

And if I hadn't looked further, I wouldn't have realized it at all. I wouldn't have noticed that I was putting such a normal high school boy with a silly unrequited love, on some ridiculously high pedestal. I wouldn't have recalled that he too was a person with problems. I wouldn't have caught the brief reflection of fear and regret that flashed across his chocolate brown eyes when he stared at the wallet he was handing out to me.

"Thank you, I'd thought I'd lost it."

The words came out before I'd had time to think about them. My eyes were glued to his face, his expression, the hint of something gone wrong. I wanted to see it again. The true imperfections of a perfectly imperfect boy.

He'd shut his eyes by the time I'd reached out to grab my wallet.

It was too bad; I'd missed my second chance. I wanted to capture it, examine it, and dissect it like a specimen that had never stepped onto this green earth ever before. In this sense, it almost seemed _elusive..._ and I? I sounded like a sadist who'd craved for far too long.

But that didn't matter because something pounding at the bottom of my chest was demanding for it and an answer _to_ it.

I wanted to see it: Shintani's _pain_.

By the time he'd reopened his eyes, I found myself oddly positioned. Hand still on the wallet, face near his, I could feel his wide chocolate eyes beginning to swallow me whole. It was there. Staring right at me, but I couldn't find it again. Blood rushed to my face and I flinched back.

"A-ah...sorry."

A miscalculation, if one could call it that, on my behalf. I wondered what what wrong with me and clutched the wallet in my hand. The leather felt more loose today, as if I'd tightened my grip on it too often recently. It seemed to bear more crinkles than it did two days ago. Then again, I didn't touch my wallet all that often.

"N-no...it's fine." The eyes I'd averted were drawn back up to his face when he stuttered, a light pink glowing across his tan features. He was more normal than I expected. Because even for him, something as borderline as human skinship was quite... troubling.

Neither of us made eye contact and the clock's ticking became apparent once more. It made me think that dough in the back had probably begun to harden. Time waited for no one.

Suddenly, Shintani lifted his head, a serious look in his eyes as he straightened his stance like a soldier in line. Determination was aflame in his posture.

"D-don't get the wrong idea." He began his declaration with a firm stutter that caused the muscles in his torso to visibly tighten. The way he shook unnervingly wreaked of indignation. An internal struggle against the turbulence. "I don't think that Koizumi-san is that kind of person, but I'm serious about Misaki-chan, okay?"

He was reassuring me of things that he didn't need to reassure.

"When it comes to Misaki-chan, I definitely... My heart, it—"

He closed his eyes and clenched the end of his blazer. It seemed hard for him to breathe when his head dipped down at his last words: "—will never waver!"

And for a moment I wondered as he stood, his figure slightly shaking with the force that had just escaped his mouth. The image of his eyes came back to mind: pools of confusion and anguish, dripping with a thirst for victory and acceptance.

"Shintani-san, you..."

I wondered why he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

"...are being quite hasty."

That was enough to make his head snap up, enough for me to see them again. Eyes that bubbled like tar pits ready to gush. They alone were enough to tell that for the first time, his self-assurance was being tested. And he was failing the test miserably.

"...What...?"

" 'Good things come to those who wait.' "

Averting my own eyes to the wallet in my hands, I could feel his perplexity and his unrestrained stare. In all honesty, I felt like I was lying through my teeth. Wasn't it obvious? He would lose this race because he was an idiot who didn't know when to forfeit. Even worse, he probably didn't know _how_ to forfeit.

That drove me insane.

The chance of him gaining Ayuzawa's favor over Usui was less than nothing. He would always remain "that childhood friend," simply because he was an idiot who couldn't admit his own loss.

_We __all __are selfish_.

The setting sun from yesterday's encounter flashed through my mind.

The look in his eyes that I so desperately wanted to dissect and solve became haunting and all too pitiful. It had piqued my interest because it made him human. But when I finally discovered the reason behind them, such a look only made him a fool. A fool that I felt I had an obligation to pity and pamper so that the smiles and radiance and brightness that filled his entire existence wouldn't, like a candle, blow out. I didn't know how he felt—what it meant to be _Shintani_. I couldn't empathize... but I knew that someone like him needed all the support he could get before he finally agreed to a checkmate.

"Koizumi-san..."

When I glanced back up, I found his head tilted back down, his eyes on the counter where he then set his hand. He was close. Just as close as he'd been before. I could smell it again. His scent. Not drenched in cologne or any sort of artificial fragrance, but plain. A boy's scent.

"...thank you."

As he muttered his thanks, I realized that he'd moved closer and that his mouth was lingering beside my ear. I could feel his heat, the warmth of his genuine appreciation and the warmth of his body. Thuds beat through to my eardrums and I didn't want to admit it again. I didn't want to admit that I knew why my heart was pounding so hard when just a few minutes ago, it was fine as I reached for my wallet.

The touch of his skin sent stinging ripples, leaving behind an incomprehensibly itchy sensation under my skin. The blood circulating throughout me teetered on the verge of boiling as it stirred violently, running through stiff veins and thick, tired chambers—a hornet's nest locked behind ribs.

_Why?_

The crinkle of plastic made me jump.

"Here you go!"

It was back. The cheery and playful, happy-go-lucky undertone in his voice.

My blood calmed as I, still regaining my composure, returned his gesture with confusion. Bewilderment. I couldn't read him when he closed his eyes as he smiled.

"Shintani-san...?"

"Y-you don't like it?"

His worried, disappointed gaze made me actually look down.

Settled atop my wallet was a plastic wrapped bun of, as the wrapper stated, "Super Delicious Wonderbread: Coffee Deluxe!" Light and fluffy, the bread's hues of cream brown reminded me of the froth on a cappuccino. I hadn't noticed him take it out, this simple package of bread. Simple and soothing.

_I_ was the observant one. And yet, I was so easily distracted.

"I put so much thought into picking it too..."

How was I supposed to react when I felt like I was being controlled? It perplexed me to no end.

"No." I wanted to laugh. "I like it."

"Eh? _Really? Honestly?_"

When his eyes shined, sparkled with such excitement, I couldn't shut him down.

"Yes," I affirmed with a nod.

Stupid. It was stupid. All of it.

"_Alright!_ I did it!"

His smile lit up the room. His laugh cleared the air.

A soft chuckle escaped my grasp. I had lost.

"I knew it," said the boy who'd just been bouncing with triumph. Our eyes met and I was quiet.

Hands tucked behind his head, elbows in the air, the childish idiot turned his head slightly and continued to look at me from the corner of his eye. "I knew Koizumi-san was a good person."

I blinked and couldn't muster up the composure to answer calmly. I had lost.

As he began humming some frivolous tune, basking in the delight of his accomplishment, a discomforting gurgle cut through his song.

"Ah...I should," he complained as he eyed the deserts behind the glass panel, "go home and eat..."

Obvious, transparent, and oblivious. I had completely lost.

It was all too much for me to hold in.

"Pfffft—"

"E-e-eh? Koizumi-san? What's so funny? I'm trying really hard, you know?"

What started a suppressed giggle evolved into a laughing fit. I could feel the hornets in my chest rejoicing and breaking away, soaring into the air where nothing encapsulated them. It was freeing. The unstoppable "ha"s that left my mouth kept puttering out and left me breathless and pained, desperate for cooling air.

"K-koizumi-san?"

_You're so stupid_.

So much so that it was only laughable.

How had he changed moods from terrified and depressed to jumpy and happy so quickly? How had he taken to heart such a cliched, trite saying? How had he regained so suddenly the confidence that was crushed?

How had he controlled my mood swings so easily that I was frantic one second and laughing the next?

Why did he even affect me at all?

I hugged the bread and wallet close to my stomach as I bent over, drowning in a mirth I didn't understand. Soon, a deeper voice chimed in with my laughs, a voice that couldn't have been anyone else's but Shintani, the master of smiles himself.

It felt light.

In reality, our laughter collided in disjointed cacophony of unhidden, shameless noise. In my mind, however, it was a _symphony_. A symphony of the foolish and the grave, the useless and the purposeful, the realizations and the reflections, the pride and the pity. Strangely mellifluous, as if it actually resolved some sort of conflict. Strangely joyous, as if...

...there wasn't a wall. As if the rest of the world could have carried on, and it didn't matter the slightest. As if the happiness overflowing from our small, insignificant selves could have continued past nightfall, when our bodies would have collapsed of a wondrous exhaustion.

_Why **you**?_

And that was how I would remember the entire afternoon: stupid yet beautiful.

A bittersweet symphony.

* * *

**A/N:**

[Edited 7/1/12]

Phew! I added so much to this chapter! It took me so long to rewrite because I didn't keep any of the older material... I kept the basic plot, but otherwise, I completely rewrote it. This chapter hit... over 10,000 words. (Holy...)

Well it's a great way to start off July!

Anyway, thanks to all those who reviewed! To those who didn't, please do! (Please!)

Regardless, I'll continue to improve, so please watch over me even if you don't review! (But please do!)

- Emiko


	5. Ch 4: Meltdown

**Head in the Sky**

Chapter |04|: Meltdown

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_Another rewrite. It's interesting for me to see how my writing has and hasn't changed and what plot holes I find in certain chapters. I originally wrote this chapter exactly a year ago in July of 2011, but it's __now __different in 2012._

* * *

_"Koizumi-san, where should I put this?"_

_"A-ah. That, I can move myself. No need for help."_

_"No, I'll do it! You can finish faster if I move somethings too, right?"_

_"I can do it. I'm not in a hu—"_

_"Too late!"_

I noticed recently that the rooftop transformed from my people-watching place to my "person-watching" place.

_"Ah, Koizumi-san!"_

_"Eh?"_

_"I knew I'd find you here."_

_"Sh-shintani-san, what are you doing with those flowers?"_

_"J-just help me, please! You're the only other girl I know at school, and..."_

_"Yes?"_

_"I read somewhere that the first step in attracting a girl's attention is to do something nice. S-so... Which of these flowers looks the best?"_

_"...Are you only planning on giving her one?"_

_"Yeah!"_

_"Shintani-san...you tore out an entire bush."_

I couldn't keep count of couples anymore due to a certain... distraction.

_"Hmm? Is that more girl advice?"_

_"Gyak! Koizumi-san!"_

_"So how did it go?"_

_"...Misaki-chan got mad at me for littering the hallways with leaves... but she praised me when I cleaned it all up!"_

_"I see...so why are you up here? With that magazine?"_

_"Because now I'm on to Plan B!"_

_"Plan...B? I thought you were successful with Plan A."_

_"A-ah...Yeah... but Misaki still rejected me when I asked her to go to the amusement park on Sunday."_

_"..."_

_"Plan B will definitely work; I'm giving her chocolates this time!"_

_"...Aren't those just the same as the flowers then?"_

Both at school and at work, I was bothered.

_"I don't think she'd want something so... flamboyant."_

_"But it worked in the manga! Pii-chan fell in love right after she saw Natsuo's confession on the huge, red balloons and...what?"_

_"Pfff, Sh-shintani-san, you read shoujo manga?"_

_"W-Wai— No, I just use them to help me with— Oi, stop laughing!"_

_"Sorry, it- it's just that that story is so overrated. Natsuo isn't even—"_

_"Koizumi-san, could it be that...you read it too?"_

_"Hah? Wait. N-not really, no. I mean, u-um..."_

_"You do read it! Liar!"_

_"Ho-hold on—"_

My daily routine was being disrupted.

_"Something so simple seems so__**boring**__..."_

_"You have a higher chance if you do something more subtle than if you bombard her with flashy things."_

_"But—"_

_"Shintani-san. When you used balloons in Plan B, you landed yourself detention from Haguchi-sensei before you could even hand her the balloons."_

_"...Well..."_

_"Then—!"_

And it became harder than usual to keep my temper.

_"...Sorry. My father has an emergency. I need to go.__Do what you wan—"_

_"I'll do it."_

_"Huh?"_

_"I'll follow your plan."_

_"...O-oh."_

_"Because...I want to make Misaki-chan happy...and because I trust you."_

Sometimes, I didn't know what to think.

_"Ko-chan!"_

_"Please stop calling me that."_

_"Ko-chan! Oi, Ko-chan, turn over here!"_

_"Shintani-san, my name isn't so long that you need to shorten it to—"_

_"It's fine, just turn over here!"_

_"Wha—"_

_"Look!"_

Most of the time, I didn't know what to say.

_"...fireflies."_

_"See? Pretty, aren't they?"_

_"...I-I need to get back to work."_

_"You're such a party-pooper, Ko-chan."_

_"Please stop calling me that."_

_"Why? 'Ko-chan' is so much easier to say, and..."_

_"And?"_

_"I thought it was a pretty cute nickname."_

But more than anything, I never knew what to feel.

* * *

I came from a world of glass chandeliers and bronze busts. Rich, dignified shades of red, white and gold colored my vision and the ornate and ostentatious were merely "average" things of "standard" quality.

It was a world that I couldn't run from. It was the shadow that remained at my feet and trailed my every movement with a fearsome exactness.

"_Atsuko! Where are you? Atsuko!"_

"_A-chan! A-chan!"_

Galas were often the worst. They were flashy and their hosts, extreme. Grandiose rooms and spacious halls were populated with tall, looming figures clad in dazzling silk dresses, thick furs and deep, dark tuxedos. Ice sculptures glistened under the myriads of hanging lights.

"_A-chan!"_

Everything oozed of an unnecessary pomp that engulfed the wide-eyed and naiive. I knew because I had, at one time, been engulfed. Engulfed and digested.

"_A-chan, where did you go?"_

I'd felt so small. So incredibly...

_"Ah—!"_

_...insignificant._

I remembered the tingle of wet drops pattered onto my cheek and the rug burn I'd received when I fell back from the collision. I'd looked up, met with two pairs of widened, condescending green eyes that shot daggers into my shocked four year-old body. The old creases on one face had no longer seemed products of age but of anger. The other's cold composure and little scoff had twisted the pit of my gut until I'd run away to the balcony and later, puked all over myself.

_"Ugh, disgusting!"_

My parents had been wiping down the people I'd tripped on as a mess of hot acid and dinner gushed out of my mouth and down to the concrete, one floor down. I had heard them as I hung my head over, ready to topple against the force of my own guiltily vomit. Tones drenched in embarrassment and regret and shame, they'd continued to ask for forgiveness. And the more they apologized, the more that had come out.

"_O-oi, are you okay?_"

Shivers. I'd left that night with shivers down my core and tears down my face.

"_Jones, call the doctor and find her parents!"_

_"Yes, sir."_

Terrified screams and gasps and squeals of discomfort.

_"Hey, take a deep breath."_

That had been the first gala I'd ever attended.

_"A-chan! A-chan!"_

_"She's right here!"_

_"A—"_

"_—_chan! Oi, Ko-chan!"

My eyebrows twitched at his voice, the pale, bland sky blinding me as I woke. I sat up, eyelids heavy. There'd been another one of Father's last minute requests, and with those came the painful all-nighters.

I yawned and rubbed my eyes as Shintani approached me, a plastic bag full of bread crusts in his hand.

"Shintani-san, please stop calling me that."

He sat to my left, legs crossed, and continued to munch on his snack as he replied, "Is 'Ko-chan' really that bad a nickname? ...Well, what do other people call you besides 'Koizumi-san'?"

_"A-chan!"_

The image of both him and my father calling me 'A-chan' made me squirm. I shook my head and waved the issue away, still groggy.

"N-nevermind."

After a series of sunny autumn days, the sky had finally returned to typical, cloudy fall weather. Thick blankets of near-grey clouds weighed down where the usual blue expanse would have dwelled. The air was moist and the entire town seemed to teeter between rainy and cloudy. The indecision would have been a bit boring had I not been sitting on a rooftop with a boy whose name contained the word "sun."

Shintani continued obliviously, "Hey, Ko-chan, what should I do?"

"Hm?" I inquired for him to go on.

"I...failed my math test."

_Ah._

I blinked once, twice, and stared at him blankly.

_...Huh?_

It'd never occurred to me that schoolwork would have been an issue. But now that I thought over it again, I wondered why I hadn't realized it sooner.

"Failed...a _test_?"

Casually throwing more dried bread crusts into his mouth, he answered, "Mmhmm."

Shintani had been expending all his energy on trying to win over a childhood friend who'd not only just reappeared in his life but also lacked any romantic feelings toward him. Evidently, studies were not a priority.

"Sensei told me that if I didn't pass the retake, he'd make me stay in every afternoon for tutoring," The boy elaborated, his eyebrows beginning to furrow as he went on, "And then I'd have to miss work and I'd lose time seeing Misaki-chan..."

The latter end of his sentence faded into a whining cry and his body slowly slouched down like a deflating balloon.

I watched as the boy sprawled across the ground in such an unusually dejected state: a wilted sunflower, fitting for the already gloomy atmosphere. Days like this were too amusing to let up; the usual Shintani would have whipped out his magazine and bread crusts as he devised his newest plan. After ten other plans, we'd almost reached the middle of the alphabet: next was Plan K.

Sadly, it'd only been three weeks since he first started.

"Shintani-san, if you need help for the retake, why don't you go ahead and ask Ayuzawa-san?"

The idea had sprouted in my mind after reading the latest issue of _Bana to Fume._Classic after-school love story.

The crinkle of his plastic bag of bread crusts instantly stopped, and I looked over at the missing source of background noise. Shintani, back to the concrete, angled his head toward me at nearly ninety degrees, facing me with interest. His ears perked up like those of a puppy.

"For tutoring before the test, that is."

_Now commencing: Plan K._

It would have been wrong of me to say that I helped Shintani purely for my own entertainment or that I truly believed his hard work would bring him his long-desired romance. When I stared at him, I found myself enveloped in his earnest diligence, the way he kept digging away in a hole that blindfolded him with sheer darkness. His confidence was entrancing—so much so that it alleviated the pain of lying.

He threw me into daily impasses.

"As student council president," I explained, "Ayuzawa-san has a natural inclination to help those with academic difficulties for the sake of improving the school's academic reputation. Helping you would be helping the school."

His mesmerized expression pushed me to add, "But, you are also her childhood friend. Her personality _prods_ her to fulfill her responsibility as president and friend. Thus, in the high chance that she accepts your request for help, you can both improve your test scores _and_ gain time with your..."

I caught my tongue. "_Infatuation,"_ I'd almost sneered. I was getting caught up in the loops, the game of it all. And it was cruel to call it that because he thought of it seriously and invested his entire life in what I perceived as a game, complete with tactics and pieces and...

"...person that you like."

_Plans_.

It was his turn to blink at me blankly, slowly absorbing what I'd said. As he understood, the corners of his mouth lifted and his cheeks bloomed red in excitement. His deflated state quickly re-inflated and he jumped up in elation, dropping even his beloved bread crust. And suddenly, I felt constricted by his pair of thin, tan arms that had clasped my entire body and locked it against his.

"YOU ARE SO AMAZING, KO-CHAN!" he cried, even lifting me up a bit as he embraced my paling figure and tottered back and forth.

In his arms, I was helpless and constrained. I was like a rag doll being flung around without regard to the physical laws that bound me to the earth. But I didn't hate it.

As he bounced around, I could feel his heart race within his chest, as it pumped what seemed like pure adrenaline through his veins. Hyper and overjoyed, he kept yelling the word "Amazing!" as if declaring it to the world and I felt myself thrown again, into an impasse.

Guilt swelled behind my rib cage along with the simultaneous satisfaction that bubbled up in my heart. I wanted to ruffle his head, pat it like an obedient dog's. Touch the features that were so close to me.

And forever hide the truth.

_Why?_

The only other person who'd ever embraced me like this was Father.

"_A-chan, how great!"_

_When was that?_

"Yaaaaahahahooo!"

His loud exclamation cut through my thoughts before I could even decide not to think.

By the time Shintani set me back on the ground, his face was flushed as if he'd run a few miles. It was like he believed she'd already accepted his request. I didn't have the heart to tell him that Plan K wasn't fool-proof. With one last sigh, he clutched my arms firmly and with his eyes glued to my own, said, "Alright, I'm going."

The reflection of myself across his determined eyes stared back at me, and I found myself caught, fixated. It was strangely uncomfortable and I wanted to squirm, but was paralyzed.

"_Atsuko, your eyes... are__**my**__eyes."_

_Don't look in._

I shuddered a bit and looked away for a second before looking back.

"G-go," I muttered in reply. His grip gradually loosened, and concern lined his slightly furrowed brows before I smiled and with more confidence told him, "You'll be fine."

He returned the smile with a beaming grin and dashed off.

When I heard the click of the door and the echo of steps in the stairway, my head pounded and a shiver hit my body.

I rubbed my hand over the place on my arm that Shintani had gripped and for a second, flashed back to the reflection of myself in brown eyes. Another shudder, then goosebumps.

I didn't want her eyes.

* * *

Surging with utmost energy, Hinata flung open the door and jumped down the stairs, racing to Misaki as if his life depended on it. Nothing else mattered, not the stares that people gave him, not the comments they passed, only the prospect of gaining Misaki's favor.

At least, that's what it started out as. As he turned a corner, his shoes screeched, and his mind flashed back to Koizumi.

There'd been an almost frantic flicker in her eyes, sense of restlessness, a look of fear.

And he was confused, wondering if it'd been something that he did or said. Her awkward smile made him think he must have gripped her too hard, but even then, he felt as if_—_

He shook his head and turned another corner. Leaping down another flight of stairs, Hinata reminded himself that he couldn't waste Koizumi's idea and regained his focus. He skidded down to a stop when he reached the Student Council room. The door was shut. Head low, he peeked through its narrow, centered window and smiled at the view past the criss-crossed diagonal lines on the window pane.

There she was, the gorgeous raven-haired beauty of his childhood dreams, standing at her desk while politely and ever kindly instructing her cohorts. (Of course, in reality, she was restraining herself from punching the next buffoon who dared to give her bad news. Her body had been itching to unleash a cyclone of rage and fury since six a.m. that morning.)

Completely unaware, Hinata sighed dreamily and flung open the door, greeting his love with an immediate grin.

"Misaki-chan!" he called childishly.

Ayuzawa Misaki cocked an eyebrow at the familiar voice, when she saw him, pounded her desk with a fist, yelling, "Oi Shintani, don't just walk in here whenever you want and distract people from important work!"

Her head had been throbbing all morning and Shintani was _not_ the equivalent of asprin.

"But Misaki-chan," the tan brunette whined, "I need your help!"

_Help_. She inwardly cringed. The word "help" had always reminded her to curse herself for being "responsible." Without a second thought, Misaki was already worried. It scared her to imagine what-on-earth the farm boy could have done. Had he unintentionally insulted a teacher? Had he broken a window? Had he eaten all the cafeteria food? Misaki got a headache from just the idea of the trouble he could have caused. The president set her papers down and, eyebrows now fully furrowed, walked up to her childhood friend.

"What is it?"

Fingers stubbornly embedded in dark, sleek strands of hair, hand on her waist, the busy president impatiently demanded an answer.

Sheepishly, her friend scratched the back of his neck as he confessed, "I failed my math test recen-"

"HAA?" Misaki's eyes grew wide and she stepped a few inches closer. Red crept to Shintani's face as an angry concern permeated Misaki's tone. The amount of worry that suddenly exploded in her would have been enough to power a full-on punch to his face.

"Shintani, I know you never cared much for school, but you better not fail out on me."

Although it was true that the she didn't want the school's already poor reputation to worsen, Misaki also didn't want her old friend to end up dropping out of school. What would he do with himself? Work odd jobs for the rest of his life? Return to his grandparents' farm on the countryside? Venture off somewhere and utterly disappear?

They said he looked like her father. She hated that; he was a good kid. A good kid who deserved a life better than the one he was living in order to stay in the city and try to win her over. She couldn't convince him to return, so the best she could do was make sure he was living just fine.

Hinata's heart thumped against his chest and radiated warmth throughout his body. He hadn't forgotten that night in front of Maid Latte, before the alleyway filled with scenes that scarred his mind for nights. The green eyes that boiled his blood with a jealousy that felt inhuman. But it'd also been three weeks of ten plans and a friend who'd cheered him on, and there wasn't reason for him to hang by the red string.

"Misaki-chan, Sensei fortunately gave me a retake."

He'd pull the red string _his_ way.

"Shintani...you_—"_

The stress in her sigh and her half-threat made him both sad and glad.

"Could you help me study for it?"

The request escaped his lips with urgency and excitement, as if it'd been fighting to break out of his voice box this entire time. Hope was high and he became nervous in the following silence. His heart beat faster in anticipation. Maybe this was it. _This_ would start their long-awaited love story.

The president blinked and stared back in half-shock at the boy's loud, unexpected request.

She thought back to the papers on her desk. Because the accounting book had been lost again, she had to reproduce it... _again_. And with this week's six-day special event marathon at the cafe, Satsuki had asked her to fill in for Erika, whose grandfather had passed away. Hours were extended to later in the night as well, and as president, she couldn't afford to drop even further in her studies.

This just wasn't the week.

She wished she had twenty arms, an IQ of 200, or even the ability to work without rest. She was only sixteen and already wished that days were 40 hours long instead of 24. She cursed her dad and her situation and herself as guilt festered at the pit of her gut. No matter how many times she met Shintani's anxious gaze, no matter how many times she ran the thoughts in her head, she only came to the same conclusion over and over again: he wasn't a priority.

He was a friend in _need_ and she couldn't personally help him.

_I'll just get someone else from the Math Club to tutor him...and it should all turn out fine._

It made perfect sense; it was a logical approach and a suitable solution. But she'd denied Shintani's hopeful face over ten times in the past three weeks regarding ridiculous antics, and the one time he actually requested something important, she had no other choice but to deny him again.

Eyebrows angled upward in apology, Misaki unwillingly answered, "Sorry, I can't."

_Again._

The boy was quiet for a moment, as if stricken stiff. The unshakable confidence he had in Koizumi's plan began to crack, but he had nowhere to place his blame.

"A-ah... I see..." he stuttered with his eyes to the floor in what he realized was his eleventh official loss_—_eleven losses to zero wins.

Misaki inwardly frowned. What was she _supposed_ to say? That she'd let down Satsuki? That she'd let down her family? That Shintani would only ever be a childhood friend? How was she supposed to handle this kind of situation?

Why did people come to her for _everything_?

Shouldering the weight just added to her back, the girl reached to pat the brunette's arm and reassure him that she'd find him a tutor before his test. It was what she could do, all she could handle. But as her hand rose, a glimpse of blond hair and emerald eyes passing by the open door caught her attention. They'd locked eyes for the instant before he disappeared. That faint, arrogant smirk playing at his lips annoyed her, flustered her, and all it had taken was that single glimpse. An iota of a second.

_Was__**he**__a priority?_

Shintani noticed her move. Her face turned away, her fist quivering, he saw the mess that laid behind her. Messy stacks of loose papers, ready to topple, loomed over her desk. Against the sun, their shadows stretched long over the scattered pens and pencils lying atop more paperwork. He looked back at her.

Misaki_—_student council president, top student, supporter of a single-parent household_—_must have been tired.

He bit his lip, disappointed in the way this all turned out, in his bad timing, and in himself. Nervously smiling, he finally broke the silence: "Really, I'll be fine. I'll probably just get Ko-chan to tutor me or something."

A bitter taste lingered in his throat. He was getting too accustomed to this grimace thing.

The girl looked up and repeated curiously, "'Ko-chan'?"

"Ah, I wasn't supposed to_—_agh," he accidentally thought aloud before correcting himself, "I meant Koizumi-san."

Golden eyes widened. Koizumi? The Koizumi in their class?

"O-oh..."

It wasn't until after her encounter at Maid Latte that Misaki had paid more attention. Koizumi was third. Right below her. Consecutively scored third on the every midterm out of all the students in their year. She herself had always been focused on the stupid pervert holding first place that she hadn't realized Koizumi hovered right below her.

_"Ah, you mean__**that**__Koizumi-san?"_

_"The one in our class, yeah. Did you give her the handouts she missed?"_

_"Ah...President, I'm not too good with her..."_

_"Sawabuchi, you forgot!"_

_"Not really...I mean, she always seems so... cold. I didn't think she'd like it if I just showed up at her house and—"_

_"__**Sawabuchi**__..."_

_"Well but she has this 'stay away' vibe, even when she smiles and thanks you all nicely. She just doesn't seem like the kind of person who'd appreciate it if I knocked on her door."_

Misaki hadn't understood what Sawabuchi meant until after talking to Koizumi personally. She could see it in her eyes, the ice cold glint in the girl's dark, engulfing orbs. Koizumi set herself apart subtly. There was a strictness in her tone, the politeness and formality of her words, that almost hinted of arrogance. It was as if Koizumi spoke from one step higher, looking down, while pretending she were on the same level.

From the little conversation they had, Misaki could feel it. The air-piercing icicles hanging off the frosty barricade lying between Koizumi and everyone else. Everyone but Shintani.

She looked at the boy whose now worried face added to her stress. He wasn't a complete idiot, but he was oblivious and stubborn.

"Be careful," she warned in a low voice, almost muttering.

Hinata blinked as she said this, because in spite of his relief that she cared about him, he didn't know what the warning was for.

"Careful...?"

The president hesitated before taking back her words: "N-nevermi_—_"

"Misaki-chan, it'll be okay. Ko-chan... is very kind," he cut in. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and he looked away from his childhood friend as if a bit troubled by her words. "Some of the guys warned me about her a few times but... they've never actually talked to her. Ko-chan is really nice and patient and she gives me sweets. And I know it doesn't sound like much, but I can tell that she's a good person. I can tell even when she gets irritated and says 'stupid' under her breath and tries not to laugh. Actually..."

He'd broke into a chuckle of relief. A gentleness graced his expression, lightening the color his cheeks.

"Ko-chan is pretty amazing, and I don't doubt that for a second."

Misaki was taken aback and doubtful. She arched an eyebrow as she wondered what it was between the two that made them strangely compatible. But the way his eyes had softened when he spoke and glistened as rich, dark pools made her stiff shoulders relax. In response to his brief speech, she nodded and allowed the corners of her lips to pull upwards in knowing that the irksome child of their elementary days had grown up quite well.

Hinata still reddened slightly when he saw such a look on her face, but for once, didn't feel his heart twist itself crazy or erupt in utter joy. His chest was tight, but lighter, as if her small smile was an affirmation that she'd understood.

And for a moment, that was all that mattered.

* * *

This, I didn't like this. My chest felt tight, and I felt a bit light-headed. Had my clothes shrunk in the wash? Maybe I needed a bigger size.

I briskly walked through the hall, wanting to run, but not wanting to attract attention. It was blurry, and I could hardly see where I was going.

_Escape. Run.__**Go**__._

No, no, no. I didn't like this at all. I could barely swallow.

_Why?_

His words had been all too generous, all too unnecessary, all too untrue.

_"Ko-chan... is very kind."_

I shouldn't have gone to hand him his bag of crusts that he'd left on the rooftop.

_"Ko-chan is pretty amazing, and I don't doubt that for a second."_

I shouldn't have turned toward the sound of my name and I shouldn't have hid against the hall wall, beside the doorway, and eavesdropped.

_"Ko-chan_."

I shouldn't have let him go calling me "Ko-chan" so easily.

_What is this_?

It was stupid.

My hands tried to wipe away the blurring pools and gathering salt water that had begun to overflow beyond my control. My eyes started to grow hot in irritation. And that made them water even more.

His words strung together like fibers that slowly wove into each other, forming a straight jacket that squeezed without end. I could hear them over and over again, moaning in the hollow depths of my mind, echoing, resonating. Repeating like a broken record or a record filled only with Shintani's ridiculous lies.

It was dizzying.

By the time I'd climbed past the stairs and flung open the door, the breeze at the rooftop had begun to blow harsher than before, cooler, more chilly.

I was trying to convince myself that I'd misheard due to the idiocy of my own pitiful ego.

The skin on my face felt ready to melt with the heat searing underneath, my blood already tens of degrees past boiling.

Was it embarrassment?

I didn't know, and I didn't like it.

The cold cement touched the skin under my skirt as I slid to the floor, back against the door. I was physically shriveling up. The fatigue welling up in my body was beginning to take over. Limp limbs and numb skin couldn't muster the energy to protest. The tears stopped and my eyes dried while I sat, trapped in the web of my own thoughts. Caught in the straight jacket of his words.

Trembling.

I had nothing to offer him. It'd been three weeks of his foolish antics but he hadn't gotten the point. He was a pitiful and sad existence that didn't know how to step back and realize that since the beginning, he'd lost the war. And all I had to give him was false sympathy. Insincere encouragement. The kind of ugly assurance that I had no real faith in. A type of cowardice in my inability to tell him the truth because I wouldn't be able to handle the emotional aftermath.

My ego was endangered.

He called me "nice" and "kind" and "patient" when I cursed him every second for being a moron, an imbecile, and absolute idiot.

I was the worst.

I was worst for being a liar to his face and a leech of his radiance. For being a such a good _fake_.

For deriving the slightest hint of happiness from what he'd said and allowing that light, airy feeling to seep into my heart and invade my mind.

_"How are you different from me?"_

I didn't know how to answer her convoluted question.

_"You're too young to understand."_

* * *

"Crusty eyes make for a bad surprise."

I once heard that line on a commercial advertising treatments for excess eye discharge. Needless to say, it left _quite_ the impression.

Blurry grey shrouds began to clear as I rubbed my eyes, dry crumbs scratching lightly against my skin. Propping myself up, I struggled to lift my head as it wobbled unsteadily, almost like it were top heavy. My forehead pounded with pulsing aches that accentuated the soreness of my eyes. The restless pitter-patter showering down surrounded me like a curtain that I couldn't slide back.

Droplets hit my skin softly. I was safe under the small canopy mounted along the rooftop entrance.

As the sky rumbled, I watched and waited for the thunder.

The tips of black hair at my chest were dampening and I realized that the rain was actually getting me wet. But my mind was blank after being flooded and charged with guilt. For now, while the rest of the world began its distress, I let my eyes stare blankly into the sky as I waited for just a single crackle of thunder.

The aches soon settled and my empty mind rested in peace.

I could breathe.

The sudden rattle of the doorknob shot me back to reality and reminded me I was wet.

"Ah! Ko-chan, you're awake."

I turned my head to the sound of the voice, feeling a tingle at the sight of his dark chestnut hair. My body remembered the previous fatigue and refused to let me think; for once, that made me grateful.

"You fell asleep _again_... you sure sleep a lot," he chatted casually as he opened the door, his sweater in hand. "You slept through all the afternoon classes. Sensei didn't seem to mind though. You're so lucky. If it were me, I'd probably be in trouble..."

He was rambling again. I half-listened as I watched him spread and shake out his grey sweater. His eyebrows curved downward as he rambled and occasionally snickered, and they almost seemed to twitch. They were awkward—not because he was rambling but because when he talked, he kept looking away and down at his sweater. Like he couldn't look me in the eye.

_Ah, that's right._

His voice began to blend with the drum of the rain.

_"Sorry, I can't."_

All I heard was noise. I stared at his face, noticing how his smile seemed practiced and how his tone was lukewarm; his usual grins were wider and his tone, brighter.

By obligation, I needed to say something. To be the Koizumi that he saw, I needed to console him.

But again, the memory of heaviness and aches and fatigue made me hesitate; I was afraid of the guilt that kept accumulating.

"Ko-chan, here. You're getting wet."

It was the way his cardigan hit my skin and wrapped over my head. The way he pulled me up by the arm, opened the door, and pushed me inside, away from the rain. The way his free hand held my other arm from behind to make sure I didn't stumble. It was the overfamiliarity he expressed in his acts of "friendship" that made me think—

"How unfair."

The door behind us clicked shut.

"Hm?"

The words had slipped and I bit my lip.

"Isn't that what you were thinking?"

"Wha—"

" 'How unfair.' Wasn't that you were thinking?"

My grip on his cardigan tightened. I didn't know that having a blank mind would lead to an uncontrollable subconscious.

"Why..."

_What am I doing?_

"...do you try so hard?"

I wasn't supposed to slip. And for Ayuzawa, I hadn't. For Father, I hadn't. But for Shintani, why?

"Isn't it difficult? To be rejected over and over? To keep on failing when others succeed? You keep going and asking and doing all these _things_ that aren't getting you anywhere. Aren't you _tired_?"

When his hand fell from my arms, I found it harder to stop.

"You're the only one who's been searching. You're the only one who's clung on. You're the only one who's cared for so long that you sacrificed the comfort of your own home to find a girl who's now too busy to help you."

It was like the rain had triggered a meltdown that set my mouth on auto-pilot.

"Don't you find it _sad_ that she doesn't reciprocate in any way? That she still calls you by your family name? Or that she hasn't once agreed to any of your last ten requests?"

_Please, stop._

"Don't you think it'd be easier to just give up?"

A still silence followed, filling the empty corridor and the stairway below.

It was obvious and inevitable. After this, he would clench his fist and explode with frustration. In disbelief, he would interrogate my motives, ask me why I helped him, and maybe shake me at my shoulders if he were really that upset. Even if he didn't yell, he'd feel betrayed, fooled, and vexed. Finally, he'd storm off in a rage and every day since his transfer would be erased. We would go back to the norm, where the rooftop remained my undisturbed, couple-counting sanctuary.

Yet, even as the roar of rain began to leak through the door, he still didn't utter word.

I'd gone too far. Too much even for him to handle.

Perhaps he'd already begun to breakdown.

And all that was left was the final collapse.

"Shintani-san, you..."

If so, then I'd give him that last push.

"Why don't you say anyth—"

As I turned myself to face him, I was met with a rough blandness stuffed into my mouth. I was being gagged by the very bread crusts I'd helped him season that morning, muffled by my own mistake.

"Ko-chan, you must be tired too."

On his face, a smile. Bright, cheery, and completely unaffected.

_What?_

In the dim lighting of the corridor, of course, anything seemed bright. But Shintani, with relaxed brows and colored cheeks, lifted the corners of his lips with the kind of ease that a dog would admire. It looked even better than the practiced expressions he'd just worn minutes earlier.

And none of it made sense.

The boy was calm, as if he hadn't heard a single thing I'd said with such sneering contempt. Was he brushing it off? Playing it cool? Why hadn't he budged even an inch? I struggled to decrypt the incomprehensible code before me, the foreign body that stood before me, bread crusts in his hand.

"Sorry, this batch was the unseasoned batch that I got right before lunch ended," he apologized playfully, raising the bag.

The crusts stuffed in my mouth shifted slightly as I attempted to chew them. He chuckled before lowering the bag to his side and looking down, his soft, brown eyes flickering with sincerity and a tinge of longing.

"I... don't think that what Ko-chan is saying is wrong," he began, a certain sadness arising in his tone. "Actually, it's a little painful."

I averted my gaze.

"But it also makes me a bit happy," he continued, sheepishly brushing his upper lip with a finger, "because it makes me glad that I have a friend like Ko-chan who thinks so much about my problems."

..._why?_

"Truth is, I was rejected again at lunch and... I wanted to tell you. But when I thought of telling you, I didn't know how since even I couldn't believe that the perfect plan had failed. I guess in the end, though," he said, meeting my eyes as I looked up, "you already figured it all out anyway. As expected of Ko-chan, huh?"

_No, I..._

There was a pause when we stared at each other, his eyes glistening even on a rainy day that shut us in such a dark place. He again, smiled as he went on, "Seeing you get so worked up is a first for me. It was really surprising because I didn't know that part of you existed. It was the first time I'd heard your honest voice. And it made me realize that..."

He shut his eyes as his smile widened even further.

"Ko-chan is kind of a child!"

Those were the last words I'd expected to hear from Shintani, the sixteen year-old child himself.

"I mean, you looked so upset even though _I_ was the one who got rejected!"

"Mmphmfm—"

The moment I'd tried to protest with crusts in my mouth was the moment I set myself up for more embarrassment. What was I, five?

I instantly clasped my hands over the lower half of my reddening face, feeling the warmth of his laugh under my skin.

"Haha, see? When you started to ask me all those questions, I thought you were grumpy because you'd slept through the whole afternoon without eating anything. And as you kept talking, you got more and more grumpy and it was like you were throwing your own type of tantrum. But since you were throwing it for my sake...that makes me happy."

The nervous, fluttering wisps returned in my chest and it hurt to look his direction.

"So, as always, I put myself in your hands. Please take care of me, Ko-chan-sensei!"

The bread crusts that'd finally dissolved in my mouth left a salty aftertaste.

Hand extended out to me, the childish Shintani waited as I returned his firm gesture with my own shaky hand. His skin was rough at the palm and his hand was quite large. It made me remember that he was a boy.

"Ko-chan."

He called me with a whisper that barely escaped under his breath.

I was frozen.

The hand that I'd clasped pulled me into an immediate trap. His arms strapped over me like the arms of the straight jacket that'd already constricted me once this morning. I could feel the bristles of his hair brush against my temples as he pulled me in, his hand on the back of my cardigan-covered head. The white collar shirt that hung loosely on his shoulders wrinkled gently under my chin. It smelled of cheap soap and bread.

"Thank you."

Even under the incessant taps of rain and the crinkle of his plastic bag, his murmur resounded clearly beside my ear. His breath was moist. It reminded me of the damp ends of my hair and the shirt that absorbed its wetness. Warm and moist, like humid summers and onsen steam. Unexpected and close, as if he'd bored another hole in the wall I built, and slipped right on through it to my side.

_How do I fix this?_

I wondered if he felt my pulse quicken against his chest when he pressed us together so closely. I wondered if he noticed the goosebumps that rose along my skin, or the lump that struggled to fall down my throat. I wondered if he realized the hesitant shift of my hands.

"_A-chan, how great!"_

How they twitched with the itch of unfamiliarity and confusion and nostalgia as they climbed steadily upward.

_First grade. Art Project Number Seventeen._

How they nervously clutched the thin, untidy shirt on his back.

_Family portrait._

How they trembled as their grips tightened, as if the motion were foreign and inherently unnatural.

_"Give Papa a hug, right here! Come on!"_

What did it mean to empathize? To be truly kind, willing, and patient?

"K-k-k-"

What did it mean to want to take five steps back but end up stumbling thirty steps forward?

"K-k-ko-chan..."

He was stuttering and startled, unable to fathom what I'd just done. I caught a glimpse of his wide eyes as I pushed back and stared wildly down at my shaking hands. The pink blush on his cheeks inflamed a chagrin that made me step back, appalled.

A siren wailed and screeched in my mind, like an alarm ordering a lockdown.

_Escape._

There was a sudden boom, a deep crackle that resonated in the corridor as the first roar of thunder that afternoon.

_Run._

Its subsequent lightning flashed a blinding white from the window, signaling my body to move. An opportunity to take off and flee.

_**Go**__._

So I did.

* * *

**A/N:**

_Rewriting this chapter took me over a week (or two?). I think I'm sculpting this story into what I want it to be, but it's tiring sometimes too._

_Well, anyway, now off to fix Chapter five! Hopefully, it won't take so long..._

_Thanks for reading and please feel free to review (please)._

_- Emiko_


	6. Ch 5: Reliance

**Head in the Sky**

Chapter |05|: Reliance

* * *

**Summary: **_His head was always up in the clouds, dreaming, earnestly wishing. She would glance over and catch a glimpse of him, his endless radiance, his illuminating smile. Now, her own head was in the sky._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_Credit for "Kaichou wa Maid Sama!" belongs to Fujiwara Hiro, whereas original characters/plot/settings belong to me._

* * *

"No, no, you can't factor this one as easily as the last one. Just think, what else could you use to find x?"

"..."

"Q..."

"..."

"Qua-"

"Quadratic!"

I nodded proudly despite my throbbing brain. Innocence may be an excuse for naiivete, but not for stupidity.

I suppose everyone has his or her fortes. His was just evidently _not_ math.

"Hello?" a foreign voice called.

"Ko-cha-"

"Don't worry about the customer. You stay back here and finish number 52," I said, leaning forward, "and don't get eraser shavings in the dough this time."

Tutoring at the shop was the only way I could keep my job and get Shintani's back. The teacher'd given Shintani some more incentive for passing the restest: fail and the opportunity to go to Seika's supposedly wondrous outdoor school camp would disappear.

After entering the shop front, I reached down, picked up and packaged the tiramisu cake behind the refrigerated display.

That opportunity is said to be "once in a lifetime," though since it's just a temple visit, I won't regret choosing Father's work over the school trip.

"Here you go! Thank you very much," I smiled at the middle-aged mother, who delightfully grinned in return before leaving.

Shintani had three days left until the retest. At this rate, everything should be fine. Six hours of simultaneous baking and teaching, then occasionally three or four more hours of Father's work...if Shintani didn't catch on quickly to start with, I might as well have wasted all my efforts on a monkey trying to juggle four car-sized bananas.

_Speaking of food..._

I reopened the display and plucked out an éclair with the tongs.

_...Let's add some more incentive._

"Oi," I called, pushing open the door with my right arm, "you get it?"

"X is eighty-se- what's that smell?" His eyes twinkled.

So did mine. "Eighty-what?"

Drops of sweat began forming on his forehead as I waved the tongs back and forth, allowing the subtle redolence of the pastry to disperse into the nearby air. His chocolate orbs followed the éclair like a cat would follow the pendulum of a grandfather clock; I could see the reflection of the éclair in his eyes. I watched a lump slip down his Adam's apple as he, restraining his excitement, muttered,"É-é-é-é-éclair?"

"Shintani-san, pay attention!" I called, somewhat smugly. As sadistic as it sounds, being in control is quite amusing. I raised the éclair high above my head and repeated, "Eighty wha-?"

The chair screeched as he jumped up and yelled,"7.3! 87.3!"

"Heh," I scoffed, lowering the éclair and stepping toward him. In amazement and expectation, he cupped his hands to receive the pastry, eyes sparkling as if he were receiving the world's last speck of gold. I could see his canine tail wagging joyously.

One more chance.

"What was it again?"

"87.3, Ko-chan. 87.3!"

"Well," I stepped even closer and raised my empty hand to his head. I pulled back a finger forcefully and watched his eyes widen before he could dodge a painful—

"OW!"

—flick to the forehead.

"Wrong!"

Rubbing his forehead, Shintani childishly retorted, "But I did everything!"

"Read the problem again! The problem is asking 'How many _people?_' and unless you want to be 0.3 of a person because you're not answering these questions carefully, I suggest you pay attention!"

His eyes watered slightly when he realized that above all, he wasn't getting the éclair any time soon.

A roar warned from his stomach.

He looked at me wistfully, only to see me shake my head with a slight frown.

"Oh c'mon!" he pouted, reaching for the éclair anyway. I dodged his movements, dancing around his eager and swift gestures.

"Shintani," I growled, evading a strike to my right, "Do one more and I'll-"

"Koizumi-sensei, I was close enough! Partial credit, please!"

"Tch," I jeered, though I nervously found myself trapped as his figure inched closer and closer to mine.

At 15 centimeters away, my back hit the counter on which dough lied. At 10 centimeters, I panicked, looking around but finding no escape when he created a cage with his long arms.

At 5, I stopped thinking about the éclair as his shadow loomed dangerously over my existence.

"_Thanks."_

I felt tingly and jittery. I felt uncomfortable and tight.

At 0, it was too late; I felt my apron shuffle slightly as his body pressed onto mine, his focus on reaching the éclair above my head, my focus on anything but the warmth on my cheeks and the warmth of body heat.

Was I embarrassed? Was I nervous? Overly self-aware? ...or just scared?

"Ko-chan, just...give it...!"

I felt the cotton of his sweater brush against my pale arm. My arm wasn't moving because I still felt empowered; it was moving because I couldn't stop shaking.

Voice caught in my throat, I frantically used my unoccupied arm to grab his shoulder and tried to push him back, reminding myself to think nothing of this...this invasion of space.

_G-g-get off!_

"So stubborn, Ko-chan!" he challenged obliviously, fighting harder for his precious éclair more than ever. Eyes twinkling mischievously, he targeted the pastry as if in complete focus within his mind and instantly charged forward.

I shrunk back further past the counter, realizing that as his one hand cornered mine, I couldn't just lower my arm anymore and relinquish myself of the cursed pastry and of physical contact. If I lowered it now, the simpleton would only attack it at a distance closer to myself.

My usually calculating mind would have encouraged me to throw the éclair across the room, have him fetch it like a dog. My usually calculating mind would have instructed me to find an opening or a distraction and run. But my usually calculating mind was, at the moment, overwhelmed with a rapidly beating heart and a state of emotional turmoil.

Stupi-

"My, my," a frail yet suggestive voice shot from the doorway, quietly summoning our attention.

I froze. A thump resonated in my chest cavity.

"B-b-baa-ch-"

"Chi-chiyako-baa-"

We stuttered simultaneously, shocked by her expression and her unexpected entrance.

"Youngsters are so open nowadays," the old woman giggled, her features tainted with an evil blush.

Our heads turned toward each other, meeting flares of red. He flinched back, and to my surprise, crouched down, hiding his face. The wild turbulence that had stirred in my gut was calmed by the absence of his warmth; I distracted my pounding chest with curiosity of his reaction.

I'd pictured a scene in which I nervously (and shamefully) flinched as he obliviously proceeded to greet Baa-chan. From what I could see, he'd only react strangely with Ayuzawa, so why...?

"K-ko-chan, what are you staring at?" he cried from his crouched stance.

"Ah...young love," Baa-chan sung complacently.

I blinked mindlessly, face most likely a disgraceful pink, flustered by Shintani's flustered state.

_Why are you embarrassed?_

Somehow, that thought made me feel airy and delighted.

* * *

"_To my lovely daughter:_

_I will be visiting on Saturday! How wonderful! You must be fairing quite well, my independent A-chan! Oh the plight of parenthood...Heehee. _

_Saturday, then!_

_Father_

_P.S. Trustworthy darling, before I come, please have the coding done by Friday as well. _

_P.S.S. Oh, I am __**so**__ excited!"_

…_That...OLD MAN! _

I gripped my phone tightly, massaging my temples with my unoccupied hand before another migraine entered my life. Coughs punched their way out of my chest into my sleeve.

_Not only do you give me more work, you used 'P.S.S' instead of 'P.P.S.' you imbecile!_

Today was Saturday, the day of Shintani's retest. Two weeks of dictatorial math drilling and bootcamp transformed him and now, it was time to see just how much.

Well, I wasn't at school at the moment, but I'd see his reaction at some point.

I suppressed another cough and stepped into the supply room, grabbing a coughing mask.

I flicked on the dim lights. The sharp change in lighting pained my eyes.

I'd had headaches this past week, but attributed them to Shintani's skill — or lack thereof — in math. That and the late nights from Father's deadline.

At this rate, Saturday was going to be a _long_ day.

Coughing into the mask, I felt for the lights.

_What the..._

I felt myself wobble, my brain throb. I was seeing double then single, then double again until I shut my eyes, found the switch, and stumbled out of the room.

I massaged my temples again, scrunching my face in frustration.

"Ugh..."

"A-chan?" her gentle yet concerned voice called, "A-Atsuko-chan?"

I shook my head and stood what seemed like staight before Baa-chan had gotten within a foot's radius.

"Did something-?"

"I-it's nothi-" another pound to the head made my eyebrows twitch, "-ing. Just, um...couldn't find something in the storage room for a bit. That's all."

My unnatural laughs pierced my own brain.

Baa-chan's narrowed, lie-detector eyes bubbled with disbelief and anxiety. I think she knew; she looked like she was weighing out pros and cons and balancing out two sides.

I hoped she didn't know. I also secretly hoped that she did and was pretending not to.

That's just the kind of person she is, for my sake at least.

"A-chan, maybe the flour's gotten to your head, you rascal," she said with a false coldness, "go work the register for the rest of today. We only have a half an hour until we close anyway."

"Eh? Only a half an hour?"

"I'm closing two and a half hours earlier today. I'm meeting with someone important later on."

"Ah...then..." I removed my mask and shoved it into my back pocket, "I'll go ahead and begin cleaning up as well."

"No, no. I'm closing the shop two hours early, not closing up two hours early. The visitor's coming to me and we're going to chat in here. Silly girl."

"Ah..."

I walked to the front counter, beside the cash register. Hardly anyone came at this time of the day, considering it was actually evening.

_5:24, huh?_

I wasn't sure what time Father would be coming home. Most likely some time bordering midnight since he had to fly here from Hokkaido this time. He rarely visited, not because we bickered, but because work was overwhelming. Why else would I share in the business?

Well...

I watched the people passing by on the street, some single men and women, some school kids, some couples.

My eyelids fell shut as the slow atmosphere consumed my mind. Perhaps it _was_ because I'd stayed up so late last night, meeting Father's deadline.

My eyes were heavy.

Father...he never meant anything by it. If there were a successor to his company, in all likelihood, either I or some cousin would inherit; I was Father's only child.

My phone buzzed. I flipped it open.

"1 NEW MESSAGE. Read?"

I clicked.

"Message received Saturday 1:17 AM:  
_A-chan, I forgot to add this last time, but since you've already finished the coding, just wanted to remind you: remember to sleep, even if you don't finish! Stupid daughter._

_Father"_

A sigh escaped my now pursed lips.

_Who is he calling stupid?_

I rubbed the center of my forehead, closing my phone.

"_Stupid daughter"_ never made me truly feel stupid, insulted, or angry when the words were from him. He himself was never a particularly short-tempered man. Whiny, but not short-tempered.

Always with a goofy grin plastered on his quite young-looking face. He had always been the energetic, childish, doting-parent type, showering me with lively hugs and occasionally talking with expressions that girls my age would use. The emoticons and symbols he employs in his text messages have never toned down either. Seldom does he tone anything down. His overuse of explosive, sparkling fuchsia colored hearts strung together sometimes in three lines exude with love.

But that's it, isn't it?

It's obnoxious, idiotic, and utterly useless...and yet...

...I don't think I hate it at all.

As the bells strung to the door jingled, I opened my eyes to be met by a pair of familiar arms and an extremely distinct voice:

"Ko-chaaaaaaaan! I did it! Look, look!"

He jumped back and shoved in my face, a piece of paper with a giant, red 87.

_How funny_...

No, I don't think I hate any of it at all.

He pulled the paper back and held it up against the side of his face which shined with a beaming, proud smile.

I stood, somewhat shocked at the sudden occurrence of everything at once, but couldn't restrain a smile either. A sixty- five point jump within two weeks. And no one else could have done it, but he.

"Congrats," I said, his contagious elation washing away the headache I was having.

He chuckled, "I can't stop smiling."

Neither could I.

"I couldn't have done it without you, Ko-chan! You are the best," he said this while looking down at me somewhat seriously, and when my stomach trembled, I wasn't sure whether that was because I wasn't feeling well today, or something else.

I didn't want to know what that something else was —

"Chiyako-Baa-san, look!"

"Oh my, what do we have there?"

— but I still didn't hate it.

Their chatter passed through me as if I were transparent. I felt distant, not because they were excluding me, but because my head started to spin, and I was begining to feel wobbly again.

"_Stupid daughter."_

"_Stupid girl."_

_Wherin lied the difference between the two? One said by Father, and the other..._

"A-chan!"

_...by Mother._

"Koizumi-san!"

I looked up at them, realizing that I'd unknowingly put my head down to begin with.

I watched Baa-chan squint at her wrists worriedly, a bit unsure as to whether she was actually squinting or whether seeing silhouettes of two of her made her eyes seem squinty.

I furrowed my brows, shaking my head clear.

"This girl...she's been like this all day," her tone filled with a concern that I wished she didn't have, "Hinata-san, could you possibly take her home?"

"Will do, Chiyako-baa-san," he said, seeming to salute to a given duty.

"No," I uttered, feeling, for some reason, confused, "I-"

"Hinata, do not listen to her. Just do what I say," the old woman commanded firmly, "and remember, it is _I_ who is letting you eat those cakes...oh-so many cakes..."

A fearsome smile crept onto the usually genial grandmother's face, a sinister threat belying that gentle expression.

"Y-yes, m'am."

Soft hands jerkily clutched and pulled me from behind, pushing me past the counter and toward the shop entrance. Firmer hands then grabbed my shoulder, grasping me as if I were being transferred from one person to another like baggage, and actually led me outside.

"Later, Baa-san!"

"Get her home safely, boy!"

I felt blindfolded by my own mind; everything spun and I vaguely had my own sense of direction.

"H-hot..."

"Huh?"

"N-nevermind," I murmured, unsure why I was starting to slip, "do you have my bag?"

I was flashing between fully functional and utterly handicapped. The Shintani who was guiding me by my shoulders became an irreplaceable crutch. He slowly shifted from behind me to beside me, at some point hooking my arm over his neck. I couldn't muster up the strength to argue, refuse, and resist. Every time I pushed away even a little, I felt him pull me in a bit closer. His hand rested on my waist, somewhat casually — what was normal to him, _bothered_ me.

As we strolled down to the train station, he filled most of the silence with mundane talk, occasionally forcing me to answer with even the smallest grunt. He laughed for no reason and said nonsensical things that would have deserved a scoff or two if I weren't being aided at the moment.

_"We're touching too much,"_ I wanted to say. Words like "stop being so close to me" and "go home, fool" were things that I felt obligated to tell him. He exuded an atmosphere of assurance that simultaneously relaxed and agitated me.

I fought some inclination to rely on him.

It was on the train that we sat quietly, neither one of us saying anything or making any effort to speak.

Perhaps it was simple train etiquette.

_"My sweet daughter! Oh, how you've grown!"_

When was the last time I'd actually seen him? April? May?

_When was the last conference?_

We'd rarely seen each other aside from encounters at conferences, annual galas hosted by prominent CEOs, and the like.

My eyelids started to droop down again until I was met with a blackness, a solitude within my mind that provided a false sense of security.

* * *

Hinata watched the feverish girl beside him struggle to stay sitting up. Her usually sharp eyes were shut, beads of sweat formed at her forehead, and a subtly pained expression lied on her face.

Even at the distance his hand was from hers, he could feel the warmth radiating from her thin, seemingly brittle body.

What would his friends have said if they saw her the way she was now? Would she still be the "dark, condescending and bitterly silent manipulator" they thought her to be?

_"Say, that girl."_

_"Who?"_

_"The one you were bothering earlier, man! Don't do that! She seems harmless...well, still scary, but harmless, right?"_

_"...Yeah."_

_"I heard she's some pretentious rich girl who can buy her way into anything!"_

_"W-"_

_"And that's not all! You know Miyagi Satsuko-san? Well, her friend once attended the same school as Koizumi, and apparently, Koizumi would ruin their school festivals and dances, and even manipulate anyone who befriended her."_

_"I-"_

_"That's right! That's what I heard too! Miyagi told me that her friend was in love with some guy for seven years, and after Koizumi came into the picture, that guy wouldn't even_ **_look _**_at the girl. Supposedly, Koizumi leaked lies that made the guy avoid Miyagi's friend like the plague..."_

_"..."_

_"Shoot, that's pretty harsh. Girls are such a handful!"_

_"Speaking of which, Ayuzawa..."_

He couldn't bring himself to add in his two cents even about his childhood friend at the time.

Koizumi?

Even when he'd met her, she'd shown at the very least a polite smile. She was more than they all thought her to be, and why they thought she was fearsome was something he didn't understand.

_Plus,_ he thought, _her sweets are so good!_

And there was no way anyone could make delicious food and act despicably.

Hinata stared forward and out the window on the opposite side of the train, watching flashes of yellow light blink in the midst of rapid darkness.

Why _wasn't_ she more expressive at school?

As the train screeched to its next stop, Hinata felt the train pull him toward his right and shifted in his seat. A school girl, eyes glued to her pink phone, left the train, followed by an old man and woman linked arm in arm. He wondered what time it could have been.

Nearing sleep himself, Hinata flinched as a sudden weight hit his left side, a weight that he realized was limp and worn out. There'd been so many hours of studying (and painful, relentless drilling at that) that he was worn out too.

_Two weeks of nonstop stud-_

Hinata's eyes widened and he gulped as guilt clutched his innards.

_And she'd been there the whole time._

He lowered his head to her level, examining her bent-over, shadowed head. The dark shades that underscored her shut eyes now seemed heavier than they were before. Her cheeks were red but her face was pale.

He hadn't done this to her...right?

Various 'if only's began shooting through his mind and he gripped his knees anxiously.

How could he be a proper man for Mi- no, how could he be a proper man if he couldn't even care for a friend?

She could have just rejected his offer like Misaki had.

But...

_"...you're not completely out of the_ race."

He remembered the sort of flickering determination reflected in her dark, taupe eyes. She, in her own somewhat indifferent way, reassured him, invigorated him, gave him a kindness that was hard to give back.

As the train slowed to Atsuko's usual stop, Hinata stared down at the girl beside him with a sense of indebtedness and gratitude.

"Hey," he called to a middleschooler a few seats across from him, "can you give me a hand?"

The kid responded with a nervous little nod and walked up to his senior.

"Help me get her on my back..."

* * *

"L-let me off, you dog-tailed imbecile..."

Although Hinata had realized that Atsuko was blunt in dire situations, which, he supposed, included failing tests, he hadn't realized that she was even more so in her feverish state.

Still, this way, she was quite funny to listen to.

"I can walk on my own," she grumbled like a barely conscious drunk woman.

Hinata chuckled and didn't say anything. He felt strands of her long black hair fall onto his shoulder as she shifted her head upon his right shoulder.

Grimly, she commented, "I haven't been carried like this since I was six or seven...how stupid."

"Eh? How cute! Were you carried then because you scraped your knee and started to cry?" he jested, lightheartedly as he slowly climbed an incline. He expected an embarrassed or flustered "shut up!" or some sarcastic comeback.

"No," she quietly said, and he half-smiled, "it's because she wasn't coming back."

"A pet? I couldn't imagine Ko-chan with a dog named 'Fluffy' or-"

"No. That's not it. You're wrong again..."

Her tone was solemn. He felt her head shift against his neck again as her arms tightened, gripping each other harder.

_Who...?_

Hinata didn't ask anymore questions afterward.

It wasn't long before the two reached Atsuko's front door, although to Hinata, having to decipher directions from the girl's staggered breaths was more difficult than the math test he'd taken just hours earlier.

He lowered her friend to her door, though he didn't let her off.

Coldly, she said, "We're here now. Go home."

Pretending to pout, he cried, "You're so mean! You won't let me in for tea...or sweets?"

(He really kind of meant that last part though.)

Suddenly, fingers pinched his right cheek, pulling slowly for a more excruciating effect.

"A-a-ah! Okay, okay! I'll let you off insid- a-a-a-a-a-ah! Okay, I'll let you off outside, but at least put in the key first... meanie," he ended, rubbing his injury.

"Stubborn mule."

_Like you're one to talk!_

She shifted again and reached out further forward, her arm, key in hand, slipping past his left cheek and her warm skin skimming across his cold features. Her hand shook incessantly and she couldn't insert her key. He heard her curse silently to herself.

Snorting a little, Hinata was somewhat glad to see this type of 'Ko-chan,' a different type from the forever formal girl he saw at school. He reached out for the key in his friend's hand, wrapping his hand around hers to guide the key to the keyhole and open the door.

Midway, however, he felt her hot breath on his ear as she angrily spat, "Stop it."

He watched her reddened face grow even redder, her eyebrows furrowing more as well. He let go.

As the door unlocked, Atsuko grumbled, "Now let me down and go away."

He grinned, removing his hold on her and standing up. She began removing her shoes as he stepped back from her doorway. Seeing that his friend, even more obstinate when she was like this, was able to stand on her own at her door, Hinata praised himself slightly and handed the girl her school bag.

"Thanks," he heard her mutter.

As he walked toward the stairs of her apartment, he waved to the girl behind him without a glance and more cheerily called, "Goodnight!"

Although hadn't heavily anticipated a response, her lack of one made him sigh.

_At least-_

Hinata reached the end of the stairs hearing a large thud and a sharp clatter to the floor above him. Immediately, he rushed back up.

"**Ko-chan!**"

* * *

**A/N:**

Sorry for the...5 month long hiatus. The busiest season of these last two years has now passed though! Meaning, unless I am stricken with writer's block (...ehe...), there will be more chapters coming up! Sorry to all who reviewed months ago asking me to update. But I guess I can't do anything about it now (/brushes off responsibility/), ha! In addition to this chapter, I've done some minor editing here and there on the story as a whole, but not to the plot, so there is no need to reread over 20,000 words, haha.

Oh, to new readers, welcome! To old readers, eep! /runs away in fear of getting beat up for taking so long/

Speaking of which, wow, it's been over a year since I published this story! I'll have another chapter up, hopefully by the end of this year (which is not far off), so let's see, twelve months...seven chapters...that's, on average, less than two months per chapter! (Now there's some math for you all to ponder on). Kind of like the average shoujo mangaka...without all the actual difficult art! (I can kind of sympathize with Lala and Betsuma artists now...)

Again, thanks so much to all those who review and support this...this...love story between two complete idiots (does that make me the ultimate idiot for writing this...?)! Every time I read a comment (threatening or not) I remember that this story is _so_ worth the time and effort and it makes me all the more eager to charge forward with my mighty keyboard and less mighty fingers! So thank you, thank you, thank you. Reviews could never be more welcomed.

See you soon (and at most, five more months later— okay! I get it, that's not a funny joke! Stop throwing tomatoes!)

Emiko


	7. Ch 6: Inexplicable

**Head in the Sky**

Chapter |06|: Inexplicable

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_Hello again! Lots of timeline-jumping in this chapter. Events divided by the lines are generally discontinuous from each other. 1st chunk starts at present time, 2nd chunk goes back a few hours...it alternates. You'll see._

* * *

"Boy, explain yourself **well**."

It'd been a long time since Hinata felt the knobs of his knees shake so violently.

Nervously kneeling, Hinata silently sweat as he averted his eyes to the floor, away from the menacing figure before him. The stern man, arms crossed, stared at the comparably foolish, young teenager with a condescending glint in his black pupils. Coupled with a hateful frown etched into his cruelly wrinkled face, the man's pressed grey suit and straight, red tie suffocated Hinata more than the man himself.

Hinata gulped.

Before _normal _adults who _didn't _look like the yakuza, Hinata would have acted freely. In a _normal_ situation, Hinata would explain everything without any anxiety whatsoever. The current circumstances, however, were not in his favor: he was alone in the apartment of a girl who was unconscious and feverish...and it was midnight.

Even Hinata knew that it wasn't the time to act too carefree.

The man narrowed his eyes as he followed the boy's every movement. Hinata attempted a polite yet nervous smile.

It didn't please the man.

Things would turn out alright...right? He hadn't done anything wrong after all. Well. At least he _thought_ he hadn't done anything wrong.

Hinata gulped again.

"Y-you see, sir..."

* * *

The mess had started after Atsuko, or as Hinata referred to her in any other context beside this particular one, 'Ko-chan,' collapsed past the door. Her belongings had spilled from her school bag, scattered along the doorway. Pens, pencils, opened notebooks, her cell phone—everything including Atsuko herself lay on the floor.

"_Ko-chan! Hang on!"_

She had lain doubled over with the right side of her face pressed onto the beige carpet floor, strands of her black hair fanned out messily above her heated red face. She huffed heavily, eyebrows twitching in an inexplicable frustration she seemed to have against her sick self.

"_O-oi!"_

The jolt of panic that shot through his body was accentuated by the heat he felt on his finger tips. He felt the sharp jabs of her bony elbows in his arms.

In the emptiness of her apartment corridor, Hinata lifted his friend's limp body, ignoring her trivial, prideful mutters.

"_L-let me down you buffoon. You...want to get sick...too__—_"

"_Excuse my intrusion."_

Hinata stepped into her living room hurriedly, eyes darting around in the unfamiliar space. Her mutters became background noise, and his vision seemed to blur. Frustrated, he wondered why he couldn't move faster, why the walls seemed to taunt him as they, in all their hollow emptiness, closed in—why he couldn't properly step through her apartment without feeling the burden of her weight in his arms.

Right, down, forward, back.

The consuming dark whiteness of her apartment chewed at his puzzled, dizzied state of mind. Minimalistic? No. The apartment was worn in an untouched way, a painfully lonely way.

He flung open doors until he spotted a bed, toward which he ran and set her down upon. The clatter of his trail faded as he stumbled further. Everything seemed too slow.

The only sound he had heard was the muffled beat of his heart through his eardrums.

It was only a fever. The average fever.

So why had his mouth dried and his palm sweat? Why couldn't he coordinate his movements?

Why couldn't he stop shaking?

The water at her sink was an icy cold that clashed against his own warm skin. His bones itched at the contrast. Each pulse under his hands stung.

He'd quickly grasped a towel draped across a bar beside the bathroom sink, wetted it and returned to Koizumi.

She'd grown quiet and had stopped mumbling, though her eyebrows furrowed unhappily in her sleep. Laying the towel on her forehead, Hinata huffed heavily. A tinge of relief.

The water had shaken his hands—they hurt unnaturally.

He'd watched them shiver as he stood at her bedside. They hurt.

'_—__tani O-...oi.._'

The lines on his palms had never seemed so apparently deep. His mind hadn't felt such a numbness for years.

'_Hinata__—_"

His mind snapped back with the tick of the clock.

'_Hinata... __—_ot. It's hot.'

Her words had escaped her mouth like in fragmented whimpers, but a little more stubborn and a little more pitiful. Sympathetic, the boy watched as the girl he'd seen so strong and resilient, slightly crumble. Her face flushed, her eyes shut, a delicate sweat staining her pale features, she had lain sprawled out atop her covers.

It'd been the first time she'd called him by his given name—the first time, and she was sick.

A sore grimace tugged at the corners of his lips as he reached for the towel.

It was nine.

As he'd cooled the towel with new water and replaced the towel on his friend, he watched her chest rise and fall in shaky movements.

He'd felt his own chest tighten slightly.

There'd been no Misaki-chan to take charge, guide him confidently.

' "_Shintani!" '_

Her voice had seemed distant. It should have been loud and clear even in the depths of all troubles...but it wasn't. And this small fact had hurt more.

' "_Wrong!_" '

But there was that. Another voice, clearer and lighter. Different. Less confident, with a somber undertone.

Hinata stared down at the girl before him, watching his still shadow cast over her.

He realized how pale her slim figure appeared in her dull, dimmed room, how her legs weren't toned or thick, how her body lacked curves in its straight, plain shape, and how the dark bags under her eyes seemed ingrained in her skin.

He felt a little sick staring.

His attention had always been on Misaki. Misaki's silkly raven hair, her peach, sun-kissed skin, her bright, sparkling eyes. Yet, it seemed recently that whenever he needed a hand, hers wasn't the one he grasped.

His gut ached.

_Had she always looked like that? _

And this time, it didn't ache of hunger.

Hinata looked down at his palms and the disappearing sweat, feeling the cool evaporation of his prior anxiety.

_Should I call Misa-chan?_

It didn't make much sense to. She wasn't particularly friends with Koizumi and hadn't approved of her before.

Koizumi moaned in her sleep. Hinata watched as turned, kicking away the sheets at her feet. Her complexion was still stained with a feverish red, though her breathing had slowed and she appeared otherwise calm.

"_Hot..."_

It was really the only word she'd said for the past half-hour. Hinata checked the time again before grabbing Koizumi's towel. 9:54 PM.

_Maybe Chiyako-baa-san is still awake..._

This was how the hours had passed. After phoning the old grandmother, he sat around, watching his friend struggle in her sleep and kick off sheets that he'd put back on her. He picked up her stuff and placed it on her desk.

He constantly changed her towel and raided her pantry.

He opened her cell phone and searched her contacts for Chiyako-obaa.

She'd forgive him.

It was Ko-chan, after all.

* * *

"...Ko-ch_—_uh, Koizumi-san was sick and I was worried about what would happen if she were alone, so I stayed to look after her until I could contact Chiyako-san."

Hinata shifted in his proper Japanese posture. Compared to the man that sat across from the table in front of him, the teen clearly looked uncomfortable. When he looked up, his usually laid-back amber eyes caught the man's strict, irritated dark eyes, eyes that seemed to command, 'Stop squirming.'

Hinata stopped and averted his gaze back down until the man spoke.

"And what about your family? Were they not concerned about a curfew of any sort?"

This time, it wasn't the man's grave voice that drew his attention, but that very word: family. The only true family he had left consisted of his kind, rural grandparents, and if possible, the Ayuzawa household: Misaki's sweet mother, the playful Suzuna, and of course, Misaki, his one and only love.

It was why he couldn't give her up; how could he let go of what little family he had left?

"Ah, my grandparents live on the countryside far from the city, so I live by myself."

_And your parents?_

Hinata expected the follow-up, and, staring back up at the silence on the other end, read the question off the man's very face. Yet, no question came. After the silence was a stern nod, as well as an, "I see."

Was this something that the Koizumi's had in common? It made the teen want to chuckle, just a bit. This guy wasn't as strict as he thought.

"Boy_—_"

Something clattered from the side of the room. The man's eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly at the voice he adored so dearly.

"Father?"

* * *

The first phone call had come at 9:55 PM. Nakahara Chiyako, unfortunately, had not heard that phone call because her phone had set itself to vibrate in its low-battery state. And in the midst of that evening's meeting with such an important guest, her cell phone was the last thing on her mind.

"My Nakahara-san, still as youthful as ever."

The grey-suited man sitting across from her flaunted a charm generally carried by young hosts in a host club. Koizumi Kouta had just arrived from Hokkaido, where, as usual, he conducted his business meeting smoothly. This time, he'd even acted _extra_-suave in excitement for his visit with Atsuko that night. His darling child was the _only_ one who could swell his heart with such fatherly joy.

_A-chan, Papa's coming!_, he'd thought to himself earlier while distributing charts to his cohorts. Behind his professional demeanor, an overjoyed man with an extreme daughter-complex had pranced with glee.

Now, here he was in his daughter's very own workplace.

"Kouta-san, you really ought to act your age."

The two often began their conversations with such banter as neither had anyone else who could withstand the same sarcastic undertones. It was relieving for both the sixty-eight year old grandmother and the thirty-nine year old father.

Chiyako chuckled, "I mean, look at you, you're approaching your forties! Even wealth can't stop time, huh?"

"Can't say much for you either, Nakahara," the CEO spat.

The gentle old woman smiled despite the vein bulging from her temples. In her small eyes and wrinkles, there still existed the energy to fight.

"...-san," Kouta corrected himself before continuing, "No need to be hostile; we're both here for the same reason. That brings me to ask—not to say that everything else isn't important but—well... how's she doing?"

Beside the glass panes of the storefront, whose cheery, neighborly aura glowed even brighter in the surrounding nighttime, the two sat at the only cafe-style table within the small bakery. The shops around them had began to close, their lights dimming and their neon Open signs flickering off. Yet, the bakery carried on with its pale yellow light illuminating the concrete sidewalk before it.

Chiyako enjoyed the tranquility the night presented her. No better time for a chat like this.

"Your daughter is doing just fine, Kouta. You know her, Atsuko is...she's not only _Atsuko_ but she's a teenager."

She sipped the tea before her and set it on its matching china plate. Kouta watched the tea's steam rise from the reflection of the glass panes. He stared at the only visible concrete outside and the shadows carved upon it.

"I have to ask as the only father of a seventeen year-old daughter I only see a few times a year. She never answers the questions in my _caring _texts with anything more than 'Fine' in that serious tone of hers."

"Maybe if you didn't overload your messages with strange smiley faces and characters then-"

"They are sincere expressions of my **love!"** The grown man cried, as if genuinely hurt by the grandmother's comment. Melodramatic tears streamed down his face.

The grandmother sipped her tea again.

"Well," he wiped his eyes, "is there anything _new_ at least?"

"Like I said, you know Atsuko. As sweet as she is and as intelligent as she is, she doesn't involve herself in school much at all. In fact, I'm lucky if she even leaks a little detail about her life!"

"If you're not sure about her, then how could I be? I mean, I hardly even _see_ her, let alone physically _talk_ to her!"

"It's not like you can help it; there's not much you can do about it all anyway. I'm watching over her and she seems better each day."

"Ah...I see..."

A silence followed when usually, interrogation would. _Why? How? When?_

Kouta hadn't yet touched his tea. The past few months had made up the greatest gap—the longest time since either of them had physically seen each other. It was now late November, nearing December. It'd been almost six months since they'd last talked face-to-face.

The father was half-scared to ask. What if she were doing better because he _wasn't_ as involved? What if her distance from his company provided her more relief than he could ever hope for? What if the best thing he could do for her was to do absolutely _nothing _at all?

He didn't want to know the answers; he wasn't ready.

Chiyako fidgeted with the handle of her teacup, its porcelain figure clinking with the matching plate below it. She watched the reflection in her tea distort with every budge, brown ripples and mini-waves gliding across the otherwise peaceful surface. The reflection wasn't so unclear, however, that the grandmother couldn't spot Kouta stare out the glass panes with dampened eyes.

Was it the right time to ask about..._her_?

"Kouta," she muttered, small eyes glued to the china at her fingertips.

Would it ever be the right time to ask?

He turned his head only slightly in response.

Her instincts were telling her to avoid the question by all means, but it'd been a year since the subject had even been mentioned. She wasn't a member of the Koizumi family, and she'd only met Atsuko the spring before her freshman year at Seika High School. How long had it been seven years, eight years since...?

If there happened to be any chance, even a slight chance for—for what? Reconciliation? Or perhaps something that was more likely, something like—

"Have you heard from her at all?"

—closure.

The man, ready to laugh, suddenly looked at the aged woman across the table, reading her worry-burdened wrinkles and a nervous hesitance. The handle she'd been fidgeting earlier wasn't just pushed and pulled now; it was grasped so tightly that the wrinkles bore back and stretched to reveal beaming white skin.

She wasn't asking about Atsuko.

He knew. He knew she was worried, and yet he was a bit shaken from the sudden question, something that he hadn't heard in years because it'd become taboo, a "delicate subject."

For once, the deep eye bags on the often admired, charismatic and youthful CEO became apparent. The flamboyant pride and confidence he normally exuded, dimmed. From afar, he was merely the average middle-aged businessman.

"...No."

It'd been seven years since he last saw his wife. More precisely, November marked seven years and four months.

He no longer grieved her departure from their ten year marriage or wondered if he would have felt differently if she'd passed away instead of passed _that _way, to someone _else_. He didn't explode with rage or implode with frustration. He didn't hate her, adore her, or even think of her everyday. He hadn't thought of her in weeks, really. But when he did, whenever and wherever, there followed a feeling of vacancy, emptiness. Not loss, but absence.

It'd been seven years; he didn't know _what_ to feel anymore.

The dark outside had grown darker. The grave atmosphere inherent in the subject of Koizumi Akira instilled a tension that hadn't permeated the air for those few awkward years.

Chiyako bit her lip softly, continuing to stare down. Moving his eyes, Kouta traced the outline of his shadow beyond the glass.

In the end, it'd been seven years and the man involved was Koizumi Kouta, a nation-renowned CEO and a proud father.

Even his ex-wife couldn't change that.

"A—ah," the businessman sighed childishly, acting, as usual, out of his age group. He cooly set his elbow on the table and with a hand on his cheek teased, "that poor daughter of mine. My poor, poor _darling_."

Looking from the glass pane to the table and finally, up to Chiyako herself, the man chuckled and grinned in a manner that reminded Chiyako of her older brother in Kyoto. In all his unnecessary arrogance, he was still a man with principles, responsibilities, and maturity. It was enough for her to put away her false irritation with his reputation and mannerisms and her underlying irritation with his lack of time. He was a good man, a good father.

She steadily smiled in return.

'_A matter of the past is a matter to be passed,' I guess._

Taking the opportunity, she directed the mood elsewhere, feeling a tad guilty for the detour the conversation had taken.

"I really can't think of anything _new _regarding your daughter, Kouta. As lovely as she is, I'm sorry to say that Atsuko just doesn't—oh."

The old woman stopped midway, a new thought crossing her mind. Kouta's head snapped up, eager for the news. His eyes screamed for the words that the grandmother was trying to conjure.

"Hm..."

Eyes wide, Kouta stared wildly.

From the corner of her eyes, the grandmother watched the father itch with anticipation. The news she was about to tell him would break any father's heart.

Slyly, she smirked. The grandmother hadn't lost all _her _youth either. She still had feminine sense... and it made her giddy like a prepubescent girl.

_Ah, young love is a crazy deal no matter what time and place..._

"Well..." she began, trailing off with the corners of her mouth rising.

One of Kouta's legs shook the table. He tried to calm himself with tea as she started.

_Calm down, you. She's holding back on something good_. _Is it a__—_no,no. Atsuko? My darling would never...would she? Okay, calm down, calm down. It's probably something like last time when Atsuko found a thousand yen bill on the floor and gave the money to some kid. Calm down, calm down...

His thoughts drove him insane. This was his one and only daughter after all.

"There is a certain _boy _friend-"

Droplets of tea and saliva spurt onto the table and floor as Kouta choked. He spit the drink back into the cup, coughing out a taste that didn't seem as bitter before. The liquid shot up his nose, and he struggled to breathe and he continued to clear his throat.

"He isn't her _boyfriend_, but he is a _boy _and a _friend_, and it's not that I'd never seen Atsuko talk to boys, but to someone so _comfortably-_"

A loud hack erupted from Kouta as he choked a second time on his own spit while clearing out the tea in his throat.

_B-b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend?_

"He's such a nice young man too. Handsome in both mind and heart," she snickered until a light, airy laugh escaped her control, "oh, and they thought I wasn't watching when they stood there so close, pressed against each other, giggling and-"

**"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"** the man burst into devastated, furious sobs. The melodramatic tears returned ten-fold as rapid waterfalls that burst from his eyes like geysers. He stood so suddenly and violently from his seat that he knocked over both his chair and the teacups, spilling tea as the chaos began.

"NOOO-OHO-HOHOHOOO! ATSUKO, MY DEAREST ATSUKO! WHAT HAS BEFALLEN YOU?_"_

The overprotective father desperately flailed his arms in the air, grabbing his slicked back, dark brown hair as if ready to tear it all out. He screamed at the top of his lungs, as angrily and loudly as they could withstand. Even his very pupils screeched in despair, shrinking and dilating crazily.

"My, my..."

She calmly observed the man as if observing a zoo animal. Pleased with her work, she enjoyed his obnoxious reaction. That is, until he retorted.

"OLD LADY, WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY 'MY, MY'? THE PURITY OF MY PRECIOUS DAUGHTER IS AT STAKE HERE_—_"

She jumped from her seat and pointed a sharp finger at him, yelling, "WHO ARE YOU CALLING 'OLD LADY'_—_"

"WAHHHAHHH! MY DAUGHTER!_" _ he cried to the heavens as he fell to his knees, slumped over as his final sobs faded into the mere trickling sounds of the salty streams of his tears.

It was in the midst of the havoc wreaked then that Chiyako noticed her cellphone on the ground, moving on its own as it vibrated against the tiled floors.

_Must have fallen out somehow._

And as she allowed the grown man to continue crying pitifully over the phenomenon called puberty, she watched the lit screen on her phone die out. Once in her hands, it lit again, reading, "12 MISSED CALLS."

_Oh my._

As she flipped the old gadget open, she was confronted with a list of red X's and the repeated name, Atsuko.

It wasn't like the girl to call more than twice in a given time period. Three times, max.

Something was wrong.

"Oi, Kouta! Instead of whimpering like a helpless brat, get your car ready," she commanded, dialing buttons on her phone as it reached her voicemail.

"_U-um, hello? Chiyako-baa-chan?"_

That was _not _Atsuko.

"_Sorry, I'm calling from Ko-chan's phone. She has a serious fever and..."_

"Oh, _musume-_"

"**OI!**" the old woman shouted at Kouta, furrowing her thinned brows as Hinata's voice relayed over the phone, "Get your car. Your daughter is sick."

* * *

Atsuko, loosely draped in an oversized white shirt and a loose pair of shorts, leaned against the corner of the corridor between her room and her living room, where she saw Hinata and her father seated rather seriously.

To say the least, she was confused. Her living room was actually filled with _people_.

"A-a_—_," the father's voice shook in disbelief, "_A-CHAAAAAAAAN!_"

Pouncing on his own daughter, the older Koizumi embraced the girl, squeezing her currently fragile figure in his worry-sick arms. She didn't have the strength to pry him off, nor did she have the energy to argue with her immature father. Remaining in his fatherly hold, Atsuko felt like the stuffed animal of an uncontrollably hyper five year-old.

"Look at you!" he said, grabbing her by her heated face and pinching her cheeks, "you're seventeen and all grown up! But you'll always be Papa's _precious little girl_."

He rubbed the side of his face along hers, exclaiming, "Oh darling daughter, how did I even survive without you!"

Kouta constricted his daughter in his loving embrace, shaking her side to side as he hugged her tightly. Hinata had never seen an old man exude so much energy.

Sitting uncomfortably on the sidelines, the boy watched as the man he feared just seconds ago completely transformed into the world's most fearsome, yakuza-like cuddle-monster.

It was strange, though.

Watching a father shower his daughter with a love that only parents could give, Hinata observed the pair as if reading a scene from a manga. He clutched the cloth of his pants.

Locked in some corner of his mind were the feelings of nostalgia and jealousy that began to bubble out. As happy as he was for his feverish friend, he also missed it for himself. He missed the "unneeded" parental affection, the "unnecessary" attention, and the_—_

"Shintani-san?"

"Eh?"

The commotion seemed to calm. The father that had previously smothered his daughter with a universe of the "utmost tenderness" was now sulking in a dark corner, his complaints about parental love muffled by soft weeping. Atsuko had left the man to his self-pity and was instead approaching _him_, kneeling to meet his level. Hinata, still caught in surprise, realized that the girl's gait was wobbly and that her usually cool, collected eyes were half-glazed and half-shut, almost as if she were lingering on the border between conscious and unconscious.

For a moment, while she kneeled there, she simply stared. She'd walked toward him on impulse. For one, he was awkwardly sitting in her living room, a place she never thought she'd see him. For another, he hadn't made a sound since she came in. Not that she expected a wild roar from him, but for all the weeks she'd come to know him, silence had never seemed like a frequented word in his vocabulary. She took it as her cue to once again fulfill the role of "Friend" and "Confidant." Trying not to care for him, to emotionally dispose of him, was like trying to abandon a young puppy. Atsuko was cold, but not _that_ cold. Her true excuse was that she...she couldn't deny his innocence and naivety. That she coveted the purity of his heart and as her one _good _deed for society, she would protect it. Of course she would never admit it all aloud but in secrecy, she alone knew. At this point, no degree of tsundere-typical self-denial would have saved her from her entanglement with The Boy Next Door-esque Shintani Hinata.

All such concerns, however, ultimately amounted to zilch. She could think these thoughts one moment, and lose them all the next if she didn't act immediately. Recovering from a fever, she couldn't focus.

So now that she'd actually sat before him, her mind was on something else.

Hinata, also puzzled by her actions, opened his mouth to ask, but was cut off.

Oblivious to all sounds but her own fleeting thoughts, she politely bowed and apologized, "Sorry for inconveniencing you like this. I'm not really sure what happened but_—_"

"K-Ko-chan, it's okay! Really, it's okay_—_"

"Maybe I could get Father to drop you off at home, or_—_"

"I could just walk home. It's really no big deal_—_"

"No, I do not have the patience to take any responsibility for your injuries or potential death if you are harassed at this time of the night_—_"

"W-wha_—_?"

"If you aren't dropped off, you could stay in the living roo_—_"

"NO!" interrupted the father, who decided to depart from his dark, pity corner, "_Absolutely _not."

Fiery, Kouta could have punched a hole through five stacked walls of plaster. A boy? Really, a _boy_? Had she no shame? Dignity? No, it was Atsuko. Of course she had pride and dignity.

She was just too kind.

_Oh daughter, you have been so sheltered from the evil indecencies of this world! _

Kouta had read the reports and articles: "Pregnant 13 year-old Searches Desperately for Father! Family Ready to Sue!", "16 Year-Old Raped, Murdered and Dumped in Creek by So-Called 'Boyfriend'!"

On the plane rides when he browsed the news, he'd cringe at every gruesome detail, pleading that somewhere out there, his daughter wouldn't fall victim to some deranged, insane molester. He'd contemplate the possible impossibilities then think of the sweet six year-old that once begged for hugs, kisses, and bedtime stories.

Atsuko, however, much less perceived her actions as kindness than as "repayment of debt." An act of true pride. She was caught in a moment of weakness and Hinata was there to help. She was not so shameless as to accept and not return.

"Father..." she trailed tiredly, mumbling something about a headache to herself, "Just drop him off."

"A-chan, A-chan! That is not the issue, here. This boy, has he done anything to you? It's okay to tell me; I'm your _father_. Please, no sec-"

"J-just get the ca_—_"

"Why are you so cold to your father?" the grown man broke down again, on the verge of tears for the millionth time that night.

Hinata wasn't sure exactly what to say. Getting killed in the Koizumi-on-Koizumi crossfire wasn't exactly a risk he was willing to take.

"_—_then we'd have to wait for Atsushi to come back from dropping off Nakahara-san-"

"_—_Nakahara? Chiyako-baa-san was here?"

"You think I'd let a _boy_ who I'd never even _seen_ stay alone with my sickly daughter? You couldn't have thought that _he _changed your clothes_—_"

"Okay, _okay_! I understand. Let's just wait for Nobuhiko-san to return, then."

"...Fine."

Suddenly silent, the three kneeled on the floor in an awkward triangle. Atsuko now looked slightly more awake, her glazed eyes faintly flickering with annoyance. Hinata gulped, averting his gaze to the carpet at his knees as a blazing glare from his right attempted to pry open the windows to his soul. Kouta, struggling, was then hit in what he thought was the worst time possible in the history of mankind with an emergency.

From his bowels.

* * *

I watched as Father hunched over, sweating profusely with one hand over his gut. For a moment, I wondered if anything was actually wrong. Then I recalled that it was Father I was thinking about.

My head was beginning to clear. I could feel it.

My thoughts weren't blending and blurring together as often and I could actually retain a moment of peace in my mind. My eyes, however, were starting to droop. If it weren't for the fact that Father was acting like an inane baboon, I probably would have gone back to bed.

"A-A-chan. I'm going to use your restroom," he said turning to me, strained and struggling. I stared back and nodded, unsure why he was making it so clear. He snapped his head back to Shintani ferociously, warning, "Don't do anything while I'm gone."

Father had always had a _bit _of a daughter-complex.

Just a bit.

I stared at his empty place on the carpet as he trudged off in a hurry, then realized that I was in a room with one other person.

Remorse brewed within. Remorse mixed with puzzlement.

I couldn't bring myself to look directly at him this whole time. Only at his knees or at the floor. I wasn't sure how long he'd been here, and I wasn't sure how he passed the time if I'd stayed in my apartment.

_What happened?_

My head ached when I tried to remember anything beyond that afternoon. Funny, I couldn't remember how I got to my room but I could still feel the soft bristles of his chestnut-shaded hair along the sides of my face. The feeling of being carried down a slope, my weight pressed against a back that somehow withstood gravity. The feeling of my skin on his uniform, his green Seika blazer. The smell of cakes and bread, and all things even remotely sweet. The stupid tune he hummed as we progressed home.

"-an? Ko-chan?"

My eyes shot open and my eyeballs felt cold and exposed.

I hadn't realized that my eyes had even shut.

Gulping, I looked around to the source of his voice.

Our eyes finally met.

I could feel myself rock slightly. Back and forth, back and forth, as if my spine couldn't withstand the pressure of the atmosphere above.

_What time is it?_

It seemed like the clock of the world had stopped in my thoughts.

"Ko-chan," he repeated, this time placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Un," was the plain response.

"Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah."

Did I want to ask?

"Maybe you should lie down. You looked like you were about to fall," he half-chuckled. His worry was evident.

"Um," I stumbled, ignoring his comment, "What...happened earlier?"

He blinked and looked back blankly.

"Hmm, oh," he remembered with a grin, "I came back from my retest and-"

A shot of black. Then Shintani's face.

I began to wobble again as he removed his hand from my shoulder.

"_—_got an 89, so I ran over and showed you and Chiyako-obaa. By the way, you have to get better so that when you come to school after I show off my test score to Misa-chan, then even Misa-chan will see you in a new light! But anyway_—_"

_Right, Ayuzawa._

Perhaps it was the fever that made me cringe then. Was it still that trace of remorse? Hearing her name, why did I even feel anything at all?

"After I got to the shop, it seemed like you didn't, um, feel very well. Chiyako-obaa was closing the shop early too, so then we left and I walked you home_—_"

_It must be the fever_.

Another screen of black.

_My eyes..._

Then Shintani with one finger up as he continued his list of events.

"_—_ah, but then you completely crashed," he tried to joke, "and I freaked out an_—_"

Back and forth, back and forth.

The images began to swirl together like a whirlpool of faces and scenes and places and things that I kept mixing up.

"_Misa-chan."_

Why was that lingering in the back of my mind?

"_—_d so I tried to help you through your fever, a...O-Oi!

Black.

"Are you okay?"

No.

"K-ko-chan!"

No, I'm not.

"Hang in there!"

It was as if my spine had snapped before gravity decided to take a lifetime's revenge on me. In my mind, it felt like forever.

Crashing, spinning. An infinite spiral.

But a soft collision.

_Ah, déjà vu._

One void of pain and coldness.

A little hard, but otherwise soft. Warm.

Shintani's voice seemed really close.

_Where am I, on the couch?_

I could hear him. Faintly feel his breath and smell those cakes again. Those stupid deserts.

_Feels like his blazer._

"BOY, WHY IS MY DAUGHTER ON YOUR LAP?"

_Ah...I see_.

"Ko-chan!"

Some part of me was disgusted by the idea. On a boy's lap? On _Shintani's_ lap? It was putrid, shameless, and indecent.

And yet...

'_Ko-chan,' huh?_

...the other part that stood away, waiting behind the doors of a realm I couldn't yet enter...

_Has quite the ring to it._

...wanted to stay like this, even if only for a millisecond longer.

* * *

**A/N:**

I have no words I could possibly say to excuse myself. So I won't say anything, really. (Embarrassed). Does anyone still read this? (Awkward...)

In any case, I've realized that even though I give general thanks every time I post a new chapter, which (as you guys have seen) isn't often, I never gave personal thanks. I think it'd be weird to PM each and every reviewer I've had in the past year and a half as of _right now_. But I'll message each and every one from here on out! It'll keep me away from more hiatuses...maybe. For now, though, I've dedicated a post to you guys: (I can't really link it here...but it's at **emijou** . **livejournal** . **com**. This'd be easier if just let me hyperlink...sigh)

Other than this, I don't have much to say. I've spent the past few weeks editing the older chapters of this fic, so although the basic plot hasn't changed, some scenes are vastly different. I would recommend re-reading chapters 2 through 5 (basically the whole thing), but it's up to you.

Reviews are _always_ welcomed with open arms! (Open arms that could potentially grab you, hold you down, and force you to review! ...Potentially.)

- Emiko


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